


The Ball of Greater Yearning

by RosalindInPants



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, BDSM, Bathroom Control, Biting, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dario on a leash, F/F, F/M, Flogging, Forniphilia, Frotting, Fucking Machines, Hair-pulling, Leather Kink, Lingerie, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, Scent Kink, Sex Toys, Suspension, Velvet - Freeform, Vibrators, abrasion play, cross-dressing, vampire gloves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2020-11-02 03:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20604032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalindInPants/pseuds/RosalindInPants
Summary: Five years ago, the former Archivist of the Great Library held a Feast of Greater Burning in a failed attempt to cling to his power. Within days, his administration had fallen, and a new Library emerged.As the five-year anniversary of the Library's renewal approaches, invitations go out from a man known only as the Silver Fox to a celebratory masquerade, a Ball of Greater Yearning, as he calls it. It will be an evening to remember, a night of unrivaled lust and decadence.Jess, Khalila, Dario, Anit, Katja, Wolfe, and Santi wouldn't miss it for the world. Thomas is fascinated and overwhelmed in the best of ways. Glain is just tagging along because Santi promised to pay her bar tab and Khalila needs a bodyguard.





	1. Jess/Thomas: Vibrators and Frotting

EPHEMERA

**Text of an invitation sent through mass Codex message to every adult currently residing in Alexandria and to all Library personnel stationed abroad. Sender listed as The Silver Fox, true identity unknown.**

_On the fourteenth of November, 2037, our Great Library will celebrate the fifth anniversary of its renewal. In celebration of this momentous occasion, you are hereby invited to attend a masquerade ball, a Ball of Greater Yearning, if you will. It will be held at the enclosed location, to begin at eight o'clock and end at such a time as all guests find themselves too exhausted to continue the celebration._

_This is to be a celebration of renewed life, and of the love and lust that give us life. At this ball, no pleasure will be forbidden, no desire denied, provided that all partaking have granted their consent. All may dress in what clothing most pleases them, with the exception of official Library uniform, and there will be changing rooms provided for those whose attire does not adhere to Alexandrian decency laws. _

_Refreshments, too, will be provided, in such variety that all shall find something to their satisfaction. For those desiring privacy or rest, bedrooms will be available. Entertainment will include music, dancing, readings of literature and poetry, a gallery of art, games of chance and skill, and demonstrations of the finer techniques of pleasure._

_To facilitate the enjoyment of all guests, all are asked to remain anonymous for the duration of the ball. This will be a place of neither rank nor status nor duty, and guests are asked to refrain from making displays of such things, whether in behavior or attire. Masks are to be worn at all times. There will be no unmasking. All will be expected to adhere to the enclosed code of conduct._

_Should you wish to attend, please send your response no later than the tenth of November._

* * *

Thomas had never seen so many naked people. From the moment he and Jess passed through the mansion's gigantic ballroom doors, he was surrounded by them. Lounging on velvet couches. Standing at the bar. Dancing. Kneeling at their lovers' feet. Hung from the ceiling by rope. All wearing nothing but the masks on their faces, and some of those masks covered very little.

Good heavens, that woman tied to a table... was that the Artifex Magnus herself?

Thomas averted his eyes, grateful that his own bronze dragon mask covered his face so completely that no one would see him blushing. He was not at all cut out for this sort of thing. He wouldn't be here at all if Jess had not insisted that it was the perfect venue for presenting some of his more... eccentric... inventions.

Jess was right about that, of course. The people at this ball were very eccentric, indeed. And beautiful, in their way. Bold and proud and fearless. Good things to be. Like Jess.

More fearless than Jess, even. On one of the small stages that lined one wall of the ballroom, there was a man sitting on a table and allowing someone to pierce a long needle through his erect penis. He must have enjoyed it, because he was still erect after the needle went through. His partner was preparing another needle...

A bump against his back made Thomas jump. The cart. It was the cart, laden with the inventions. He was to pull, and Jess to push, but he had stopped, and Jess had not.

"Thomas? All right?" Jess asked, peering around the side of the cart at Thomas, his expression unreadable behind the bronze plates and gears that made up his mask. It had been his idea to make them this way, out of scraps of unused materials from the workshop, all polished to a shine. Thomas thought it looked good with his brocade coat, but then, Thomas thought everything Jess wore looked good.

"Yes. Yes, I am fine," Thomas said, adjusting his grip on the handles of the cart and stepping forward again.

By the time they had the cart set up in its designated space just inside the terrace doors, Thomas thought he was almost used to the sights and sounds around him. He did not care for the people who played with whips and fire, but he did not have to look at them. He could stay busy with his inventions.

There were more than enough of them on display on the shelves that folded out from the cart. Creations using the Vibration Engine alone took up half the space. Then there were the rods, no, the dildos, he would use the correct word for them. Molded from a new material using a new process that made them extremely lifelike, he and Jess expected those to be very popular. Bottles of their new lubricant and boxes of condoms went right beside those. They had brought large supplies of both those things, and Jess was still certain both would sell out quickly. There were a few sharper things as well, but he left the arrangement of those to Jess. They were not to his taste, but Jess enjoyed them when he played with his more adventurous partners.

Only one invention remained in its box in the cart. The largest one of all. That would wait to be demonstrated later in the evening, when it would be auctioned off. He would take commissions to make more if it proved popular enough.

Before coming here, he had thought it would not be so popular. He was sure Jess was unique in his enjoyment of such things. Sure enough to bet on it. With all that he had seen so far in the ballroom, Thomas was now very sure Jess would be winning their bet.

But that was for later. Now, it was time to explain the Vibration Engine to the curious people beginning to gather around. He scanned the shelves he had just arranged, searching for the item he wanted. It was very hard to focus, knowing that some of the people behind him did not have clothes on.

Jess squeezed himself between Thomas and the cart and stood on his tiptoes to kiss Thomas. The noses of their masks bumped together with a metallic clatter, but Jess managed to get his lips onto Thomas's. That made it better. Jess's kisses always made him feel better.

"Katja and Anit are here," Jess said, softly enough that only Thomas could hear. "Shall we have them demonstrate first?"

The thought was all too appealing. "No." His voice wavered, so he repeated the word with more strength, "No. I will lose my nerve. I will begin the lecture now. Can you find the rings?"

Jess held up two rings, one of leather, one of rubber, both fitted with a small brass cylinder containing the Vibration Engine. "Already have them. How about I show off a bit while you talk?"

Thomas nodded. "Yes. Go ahead. That will be good." If the people here were looking at Jess, they would not be looking so much at Thomas.

Steeling his nerves, Thomas turned. If he kept his eyes up, and only looked at the masked faces, he could almost pretend that this was an ordinary lecture, like his demonstrations of his printing press. He recognized a few of the people assembled. Anit and Katja, of course. Their masks looked like metallic black lace, and did not disguise them at all. But perhaps the gentlemen's suits they both wore were intended to be their disguises. Deep red brocade for Anit, with a matching top hat on her head, and black for Katja, who carried a crystal-topped cane. It looked heavy enough to be a weapon on its own, but Thomas also spotted the hidden seam in the handle. A concealed sword. Very clever.

Khalila and Dario were there, too. Or at least, Thomas thought it was them. Jess had told him Dario would have a peacock mask, and who else would have one with so many feathers and jewels, covering his entire face? The suit was very like him, too. Flashy and jewel-toned, with a giant emerald pin to fasten the iridescent silk cravat, and enough peacock feathers sewn into the knee-length jacket to create the impression of a real peacock's tail. And next to him, in white and gold, Khalila. Thomas thought she looked plainer, at first, but that was only because she was next to Dario. The white silk of her dress and niqab looked very fine, adorned with gold and pearl beading in a peacock feather pattern to match her husband. Her mask looked like solid gold, set with crystals that glittered in the light. Yes. It had to be them.

He felt very warm beneath his mask. Surely, she did not intend to stay for the demonstration. He was not sure he could do what he had planned, with her watching. Dario, he did not mind. He had shared a bed with Dario. But not Khalila.

And not with most of these other people either, but still he was going to do this. It was for Jess, and for his creations, and it would be worth it. Gathering his courage, he cleared his throat and addressed the crowd. "Good evening, everyone. I represent a new business venture, Aphrodite's Workshop, and I have come to show you wonders the likes of which you have never seen..."

The introduction was hard, especially since he had to remember not to say his name or Jess's, but once he started on the description of his Vibration Engine, it was easy to keep talking. Harder not to, in truth. The details of the device's workings were simply fascinating, as was the discussion of how it interacted with other sorts of bedroom toys.

The audience seemed very interested. That was because of Jess, of course. Thomas suspected that many of them did not understand him very well, but that was not a problem. Jess showed them. He had one of the dildos and one of the rings, and he stood on a step stool and held them up for all to see. He turned the switches and dials, showing how to adjust the vibration, and he demonstrated the process of replacing the power supply. The devices all used the same sort of power supply as small clocks and children's toys. That was important. People would not want a private toy that needed a special power supply. Jess then brought the toys around for people to touch, and Thomas heard squeals of delight and hums of interest.

But that was not as interesting as the practical demonstration that began when Jess returned to his place on the stool. Jess unbuttoned his shirt first, and held one toy to each nipple, showing how each could deliver vibration there while Thomas explained the process. There were clamps, too, and Thomas mentioned those as well. Anit and Katja would demonstrate those when it was their turn.

But of course, people were more interested in genital stimulation, so Thomas moved on quickly to that. He talked about penises first, and that made his face turn very, very red. He knew what was coming. He had to get through it quickly. Jess, with no shame at all, unbuttoned his trousers and pulled himself out to put on the ring. It fit perfectly around the base of his cock, because Thomas had designed it to fit him. There were many appreciative noises from the crowd at that. Thomas did not know if they were for the ring or for Jess. That did not matter. He kept talking, explaining how the ring could deliver its vibration to both the wearer and a partner. He watched Jess grow hard without even touching himself, and then he watched Jess make himself drip by rubbing the vibrating dildo against his shaft.

This was not his first time watching Jess do these things. It would not be his last. Still, it left him momentarily speechless. He did not think their audience noticed. They were enjoying watching Jess as much as Thomas did. Jess had very clever hands, and he did very clever things with them when he pleasured himself.

Thomas wanted to keep watching Jess, but he could not. It would not be fair to keep Jess waiting. So he explained how the ring could be made in many sizes, and how two people could wear rings at the same time. And he walked over to stand face to face with Jess, so close the noses of their masks might touch, if Jess were not still shorter than him even with the stool.

Jess cocked his head, the signal they had agreed on to check that Thomas still wanted to do this. He did. A quick glance out at the audience. Dario was still there, but beside him, only a swirl of white silk and a glitter of gold that soon disappeared into the crowd. Had Jess or Dario spoken to Khalila about this? Did she guess Thomas's feelings on her own? He had no time to think about it. Looking straight at Jess, he nodded, and he stood very still.

Jess's hands were clever, making quick work of the buttons on Thomas's trousers, but they were also very gentle. They felt very good when they stroked his balls and his hardening shaft, and that made it easy to forget that he was standing in front of a group of strangers, some of whom were not wearing clothes. Thomas thought he heard gasps of awe when Jess pulled his cock free of his clothing and slipped the ring onto it, but he wasn't sure. His heartbeat had become very loud.

Instinctively, he wrapped both arms around Jess's waist, but he remembered to be careful not to pull Jess down from the stool. Jess slipped one arm around Thomas as well. They had practiced this, and he was glad. They positioned themselves so that the audience could see both their cocks, resting against each other, shaft to shaft. As if those, too, were embracing. Jess's small body nestled so comfortably against Thomas's larger body, and the same was true of their more private parts. They fit together like gears in a clock, and Thomas was glad to be able to hold Jess like this, safe and loved.

Everyone could see Jess's clever hand flick the switches on the rings, turning the vibration to its highest setting. With the vibration this high, even the slightest movement brought great pleasure. The vibration from the rings carried along both of their erections, and that made it very hard to think about anything else. Thomas let himself move as his body willed, sliding his cock against Jess's in the way that they both liked. It felt very good when their heads rubbed together. He would finish quickly, and he did not mind that.

Jess, clever as he was, remembered the last trick before they finished. He brought the vibrating dildo in line with their cocks, and he turned it, too, to its highest setting. He held its head to their heads. That was as much as Thomas could take. He bucked his hips and he exploded, clenching his jaw to keep himself from calling out Jess's name.

Thomas could hardly think from the intensity of the climax, but Jess was not finished yet, so he made himself focus. He took the dildo from Jess and held it tight against Jess's shaft while stroking him, and with his other hand, he massaged Jess's bottom. Ten good, firm strokes, and Jess came. He was quieter about it, because he was sneakier that Thomas, but Thomas could feel the ejaculation on his hand.

For a moment, he held Jess, listening to his breathing. Jess was panting, but no more than reasonable for a person who just had a very intense orgasm. Jess's hand shook a little when he turned the toys off, but that, too, was normal. Thomas let the arm that held Jess relax a little, but he still kept Jess close. He wanted to keep him like this always.

But they had both produced a mess, and that had to be taken care of. He had to take his arm from around Jess to fish in his pocket for a handkerchief, which he used to wipe them both up. Their shirts were both wet, but that was why they had jackets, to button closed and cover that up. While Thomas folded the handkerchief, Jess removed the two rings and pocketed them, then got both their cocks put away. He was wonderfully careful with Thomas's, tucking it into Thomas's underwear in exactly the position Thomas liked.

Jess pulled Thomas in for a kiss before they parted. Quick, but sweet, full of promises. There would be more later. He would be able to hold Jess later.

Now, though, they were surrounded by eager customers in varying states of dress and undress, and there were questions to be answered and products to be distributed. And there, at the front of the crowd, were Anit and Katja, waiting to demonstrate the penetrative toys. Not at all patiently, by the way Katja was tapping her cane against the polished wood of the ballroom floor.

Thomas did not at all mind stepping aside to let them have their turn.


	2. Wolfe/Santi: Masks, Suspension, Flogging, Blowjob

Lord Commander Niccolo Santi found few things more relaxing than rope. Kneeling on the stage with his hands behind his head, stripped bare except for the ropes that already bound his legs, he could let go of all his duties and responsibilities and place himself in Christopher's capable hands.

For this part of the demonstration, Chris was silent, putting his entire focus on the ropes. They'd chosen black and gold, and Chris wove the two colors together in intricate designs both functional and ornamental. Thick bands of rope wrapped around his wrists, ankles, hips, and shoulders, the points that would bear his weight and hold his position. Star-like patterns of rope spread across his arms, legs, and abdomen, turning him into a work of art. A harness of rope kept his cock deliciously constrained. His ass was entirely bare, exposed to the punishment Chris had in store for him. Not too much rope on his chest, thighs, or upper back, either. Chris liked to keep his options open.

He wasn't even in the air yet, and already Santi was starting to float. He'd always loved the ritual of it all, the discipline of holding his position while Chris went through the steps of tying and checking each knot. This wasn't the most challenging position he'd been required to hold, not by far, but it took focus. He wasn't allowed to sit back on his heels, and keeping his ass at the necessary height above his feet made his thighs ache. Nor could he let his elbows droop or his arms shift from the places where Chris had put them, even as Chris connected the ropes on Santi's body to the ones that would lift him above the stage. Chris saved the wrists for last, tying the ropes into long cuffs that covered half his forearms, binding his hands securely together and anchoring them to the ropes already in place around his shoulders.

At last, Chris kissed the back of his neck, very gently, a silent signal that the preparations were complete. Santi let himself relax against the ropes, trusting them to hold his position. Chris did one final check of the knots, his soft fingers like fire to nerves made sensitive by restraint. The last thing he checked was Santi's wolf mask, matched to his own. These were much like the wolf masks they usually wore to events requiring disguise, but decorated with gold-painted details to suit the formality of the ball. Chris had chosen a celestial theme for their costumes: the sun for Santi, the moon and stars for himself. Each of the twinkling gold stars on his robe formed a constellation, though he hadn't taken the usual step of connecting them with lines.

("What would be the fun in that?" Chris had said with a grin as he showed Santi the robe when it arrived from the tailor. "Let them be a secret for those with knowledge enough to see them."

Santi knew each one of them from quiet nights sitting together in their courtyard and in High Garda camps, gazing up at the stars. Chris had rewarded him for pointing each one out as they examined that robe together.)

As always, Chris flouted the requirements of the invitation. It said to come masked and out of uniform, disguised. So Scholar Christopher Wolfe came in a wolf mask and a robe that was a Scholar's robe in all but ornamentation, and he dared anyone to challenge him on it. It was one of the many reasons Santi so adored him.

Gears turned, and the ropes pulled tight against Santi's skin, carrying him upward.

The ropes around his shoulders took most of the weight, keeping him upright, his knees bent by the ropes that bound them so that he knelt in the air in submission to Chris.

He could see the whole hall from this position above the stage, a chaos of color and lust, and he took it all in with detached interest. Dancers spun across the dance floor, beautiful in their motion. The orchestra played a song he didn't recognize. Something new, maybe even written for this very ball. Servants dressed in shimmering silver circulated with trays of food. Guests lined up at the bar for wine and spirits, more than a few of his own soldiers among them. On the other stage, a Scholar Chris sometimes worked with was having his cock turned into a pincushion. Impressive pain tolerance, there.

Onlookers peered down from the balconies that surrounded the room, including their mysterious host in his silver fox mask and fashionable suit. He looked to be a man of average build with long hair as silver as his mask, his back to the stage as he spoke to a group of guests gathered around him. The sight of him brought Santi's mind back into focus, and he made himself look away before the distraction could get its claws into him. A puzzle to be solved there, but not yet. Later, when he came back to earth. He had enough undercover High Garda in attendance to allow himself this release.

One last thing to check on before he let go. Fortunately, he spotted them all together. Across the room, a crowd as large as those around the stages gathered at a merchant's cart, and there among them were his children. Santi recognized Thomas's large form in his dragon mask and brocade coat at the center of that crowd, and Jess, Thomas's smaller shadow in matching costume beside him. Santi was too far to identify the objects that they held, but he'd already seen the prototypes, so he had some idea. It seemed their business would prove a success.

Dario stood out among the crowd, gaudy as always, with Khalila elegantly subdued beside him. Peafowl, both of them, naturally, he the cock and she the hen. Behind them, Glain, standing guard in a lion mask, her posture tense. A favor to both Santi and Khalila, her protection made Khalila's attendance possible. Santi was going to be paying Glain's tab at the Hive for a long time after this, and the expense was well worth it.

Chris's hand on his chest drew his attention downward. His eyes caught on the shining waves of Chris's hair, dyed black for the occasion. Beautiful, if a little strange, accustomed as he had grown to the streaks of gray. Dark eyes bored into him through the gold-lined eye holes of Chris's mask. "All is well out there?" Chris murmured, too quiet for their audience to hear.

Santi let his head drop. "Yes. Troops are in place, should we need them. The children look to be having a good time."

He could just see Chris's smile beneath his mask. "Are they? Excellent." His hand trailed down Santi's chest, light and teasing. "And you, my dear? Are you having a good time?"

That question was a trap if Santi had ever heard one. "Do I have your permission?"

"Hmm..." Chris traced his hand lower, toward Santi's hip. "You're so beautiful like this... so tragic you cannot see yourself."

That wasn't an answer. Nor was it an invitation to speak. Santi held his silence while his partner traced the lines of the ropes down to his thighs, where he trailed his fingertips over the bare skin between the ropes, painfully gentle.

"Maybe if you keep behaving for me, I'll let you have a look at yourself. Would you like that?"

Ah, so there was a mirror hidden somewhere nearby. Santi had suspected as much, but the confirmation still sent a thrill through him. As good as Chris's intricate rope work felt on his body, it was even better to see.

A few times, years ago now, Chris had tied him facing a mirror with his hands in position to hold his sketchbook and pencil, and ordered him to draw himself. They still had those sketches. None had turned out quite well enough to share, but Santi enjoyed looking at them from time to time, along with his drawings of Chris similarly restrained. It was too bad he wouldn't be able to add a drawing of this night's rope work to his collection. This had to be the most beautifully Chris had tied him in a long time, and Santi would have liked a more tangible memory of it.

Lost in his thoughts, he was slow in answering Christopher's question, and he earned a sharp rake of nails across his inner thigh for it. The burst of pain, mild as it was, pushed him even closer to losing himself, but he kept his head enough to answer, "Yes, sir."

Chris returned to his gentler, almost tickling, petting, his hand moving maddeningly high on Santi's thigh. "Hmm. I will consider it. Do be still and quiet for me now. I am not yet through with you." With his hand so close to Santi's cock that Santi could almost feel it, Chris turned to face the audience and raised his voice. "Now, allow me to explain the knots that you see here..."

The hand lifted, only just grazing Santi's erection, and Santi had to stifle a whine. Chris would not be impressed with him if he broke his silence so soon. At the front of the stage, Chris paced, lecturing, his robe a glittering trail behind him. The sight was mesmerizing, and Santi let himself be mesmerized by it. He didn't need to think anymore.

He only needed to fly.

Time and perception distorted such that it seemed at once an eternity and an instant between the beginning of Chris's lecture and his return to Santi's side. The words he spoke mattered little to Santi, but the sound of them washed over him, almost tangible. He'd always loved Christopher's voice, and it seemed especially beautiful now, almost musical, confident in its power. Such power Chris held now, not only over Santi, but over those who watched them with rapt attention. He could have been one of his gods, wolf-headed and shining, commanding devotion that Santi gladly offered.

When his touch returned, fingertips on Santi's chest, it was a gift from the heavens, and Santi could not help but moan in gratitude for it.

Chris leaned in to bite Santi's neck, a promise of pain to come, and whispered, slowly enough for Santi to follow his words, "Already so far gone, are you? Oh, my love, I have so much more planned for you. This, for instance." Keeping a hand lightly on Santi's side, Chris moved around behind him.

There was a rustle of robes, a soft jingle, and at last the feel of leather on his ass, the tickle of a flogger's tails trailing lightly over his skin. Intensely frustrating, and a whimper escaped before he could think to stop it, drunk on submission as he was.

Another rustle of robes, followed by the sudden warmth and pressure of his lover's body against his as Chris wrapped him in a one-armed embrace. "I want to hurt you. I want to leave my mark on this beautifully bound body. I want to give you as much pain as you can take. How much pain will that be, my dear?"

It was a question intended to tease as much as to confirm his desires, and he wanted to answer with an obscene gesture and a frustrated groan. He did neither; his hands weren't currently capable of gestures, and he knew Chris expected a properly spoken response. If he didn't give an unmistakable affirmative, this would be the end of it. He might get a few gentle strokes of the flogger for appearance's sake, but nothing intense. Nothing to drive him further out of his mind. 

Santi wanted very much to be out of his mind. "All of it," he said. "Give me everything, sir." He slurred his words, but he remained sensible enough to use "sir" in place of Christopher's usual title. Belatedly, he added, "Please."

"Such a greedy thing you are. I warn you, this will hurt more than you think it will," Chris said, trailing the tails of the flogger over Santi's leg. "I am going to enjoy this, and you have my permission to enjoy it with me. You need not be silent; I do not think it will be possible. Let me hear you cry, my love."

Uncommonly generous terms for Chris to offer, and that made Santi nervous in a way that made his cock twitch in its bindings. Since he had permission to speak, he said, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Chris kissed his bound hands, soft and sweet. "Oh, I think it is far too soon to thank me. Let us see how thankful you feel when I am through with you." Though his face was out of sight, there was a grin in his voice, an uncommon level of cheer beneath the smugness. Christopher was planing something. Santi already knew that, but every bit of proof of it drove his anticipation higher.

A final kiss to Santi's neck, and Chris backed away, the tapping of his boot heels on the wood of the stage seeming to echo. Not nearly so loud as the swing of the flogger and the slap of leather against his ass. A light blow, a warm-up that left him aching for more.

Only enough of a pause for Chris to draw back his arm, and the tails of the flogger whistled through the air again and landed lower, kissing the tops of Santi's thighs. No harder than the first, and the frustration of that made Santi moan. "So impatient," Chris said between strokes. "Just can't wait to be beaten red and raw, can you? Patience, my love; I assure you that you will soon be glad that I was kind enough to warm you up." As he spoke, he circled around Santi, working over his thighs and chest with firm and warming blows, then coming back around to place a few strokes between the ropes on his upper back and several more on his ass. Chris ended the warm-up with a blow to each foot, no harder, but more painful, sending sparks racing along Santi's nerves.

Just enough to make him yelp with the first and swear in Italian with the second. A good, appreciative swear. This was getting closer to the intensity he wanted.

The slapping of the flogger stopped. Chris moved in again to squeeze Santi's ass, digging his fingers into the heated flesh where he'd just struck. "Last chance. Are you sure you want as much pain as I can give you? I could go easy on you, if you wish."

So cruel of Chris, to make him ask for this. So beautifully cruel. Santi groaned. "Give me more pain... please, sir."

Chris squeezed harder until Santi whimpered. "Very well, my love. Do remember that you are the one who asked for this." He backed away. Something jingled.

The swing of the flogger sounded like the same leather Chris had already used, and for a fraction of a second, Santi was disappointed, frustrated, certain Chris intended to tease more.

And then the chains hit.

Santi screamed.

Lines of pain lit up like fire across his ass, burning above the deep-penetrating heat of the leather's impact.

The next blow landed before he could even begin to grapple with the screaming of his nerves.

It consumed him.

He couldn't think, but, oh, he could feel.

Stroke after stroke, the flogger carried him out of his mind and into his body. Arousal and need coursed through him, but even those were burned away by flare after flare of pain.

He had floated, he had flown, and now he soared.

In retrospect, there could not have been so many blows. Even his body, toughened by High Garda training and Chris's loving applications of whips and canes and floggers, could not have taken many hits from those chains. Most of the strokes had been placed on his ass, but his thighs got their share as well, and his back and chest were not entirely neglected. None for his feet; even he had his limits, and the chains could cause real damage to less sturdy flesh.

Not that he would have known them, high as he was soaring. Chris knew, though, and that was good enough. When he'd given all that Santi could take, Chris brought him down gently, switching out the flogger for an elkhide one that hit like a massage. His hands came next, firm rubbing that seemed to press the lines left by the chains deeper in.

Hazily, Santi wondered how long those marks would last. The pain certainly didn't seem to be going anywhere. That was good. Very good.

Chris's hands moved around to the front, and Santi was abruptly very aware of his erect cock. Hard not to be, with Chris's thumbs sliding up and down his inner thighs. "Open your eyes," he said in that silky, satisfied tone that always made Santi's heart beat faster.

He didn't exactly remember closing them. The light seemed very bright at first, but when his vision focused, he saw only Christopher. The gold crescent moon painted on the brow of his mask seemed to glow, and the eyes beneath the mask had never looked so beautiful.

"Ah, there you are." Chris reached up to caress Santi's chin, smiling when Santi whined at the loss of its touch on his thigh. "Having a good time, my dear?"

"Yes... sir," Santi panted.

"I have one last thing to give you," Chris said, running a single fingernail lightly along the top of Santi's cock. "I'm going to show you how beautiful you look now. And, if you can take it, you can watch while I suck your cock until I've drained every last drop from your balls. Would you like that?"

It was almost impossible to answer with Chris's hand cupping his balls. Without the ropes on his cock, Santi suspected that touch alone might have made him come. "Yes... please... please, sir."

"Well, then. Look up, my love." He stepped to the side as he spoke, keeping his hand on Santi's chin to guide it upward.

There was a mirror at the front of the stage. That hadn't been there before. And another, larger mirror, reflected in it behind, the curtains that had covered it drawn aside. In those reflections, Santi could see himself from both sides, and it took his breath away. The ropes alone were an artistic masterpiece, even the functional arrangements that held his position made elegant by the addition of the gold rope to the black. The more decorative pieces wound around him like a net of stars, all in gold, each knot a work of art unto itself. And then there were the marks. Oh, the marks. The chains left such bold, bright lines on his body, deep red against the more muted blush left by the leather. They'd broken the skin on his ass and thighs, and a few thin trails of blood dripped downward. With the wolf mask on his face, he looked like one of the captive gods of myth, bound by a superior power.

The day, held captive by the night. Beaten, but only until the dawn, when sun and moon would change places. So like Chris to turn this entire demonstration into a metaphor for their exchanges of power.

Chris slid down to his knees in front of Santi, cupping Santi's balls the whole time. Not a hint of submission in the gesture; with his back straight and his robe fanned out behind him, he looked far too regal for that. Holding Santi held in the palm of his hand as he did, there could be no doubt who held control. He stopped there, his mouth just out of reach. "Come to me, my love. If you want this, come to me."

There was not a hope of reaching that open mouth, bound as securely as he was, but Santi tried. Teeth gritted and muscles straining, he tried, whining and grunting with the effort of it.

Chris could have made Santi struggle until he exhausted himself, but he didn't, not this time. After only a few hopeless attempts, Chris leaned forward, letting his lips wrap around Santi's head. A single flick of his tongue against the already damp tip was all it took.

Santi could not have held it back if he'd tried. He came like a flood, and he would have collapsed from the power of it if not for the ropes holding him.

That would have been enough.

But as the pleasure ebbed, as Santi thought he might catch his breath, Christopher's fingers went to the ropes that entwined his cock.

His nails might as well have been made of Geek fire, and he made no effort to keep them from scraping oversensitive skin while he untied the knots.

The ropes fell away, Chris's mouth slid down his shaft, and it was just too much. Ecstatic agony. Agonized ecstasy. More sensation than he could endure, and yet, he had no choice but to endure it.

He didn't know if he wanted to beg Chris to suck harder or to stop, and that didn't matter, because the only thing he could do was sob.

When the climax came, he touched the heavens.

Chris might have addressed the audience after that. Santi thought he heard his lover's voice, pitched loud. And then the glows dimmed, and the curtains closed around the stage, leaving them alone.

Gently, Chris let him down, lowering him to a bed of cushions arranged beneath him and undoing the knots one by one, speaking all the while in soft and soothing tones. There were cool water and sweet chocolates on his tongue and Chris's hands tending to wounded skin and aching muscles.

There would be work to do. Later. It could wait. For now, he was Christopher's, and Christopher was telling him to rest.


	3. Khalila/Dario: Leather, Scent, Forniphilia, Aphrodisiacs

Leaving Dario to ogle Thomas and Jess, Khalila headed for the stairs leading up to the balcony encircling the ballroom. This was as good a time as any to address the less pleasant of her reasons for attending this event. She would have much more fun with Dario if the question of their host's identity wasn't hanging over her.

She had her suspicions already. There were only so many people in Alexandria who could afford to rent a mansion of this size - more of a small palace, in truth - and provide refreshments and entertainment on this scale. Of them, how many would wish to hold a ball of this nature? Of that smaller subset, the number who might dub themselves "The Silver Fox" and appear in a suit and mask to fit the title seemed vanishingly small, indeed.

The balcony proved as crowded as the ballroom downstairs, but with Glain looming large and intimidating at her back, Khalila had little trouble making her way through. She noted faces where she could recognize them beneath their masks; while she had no intention of ever shaming anyone for their desires, it might prove useful should any of them ever attempt such tactics against her. She was taking every precaution she could with the niqab and the mask and her self-imposed restrictions on speech and handwriting, but there were always risks. Better to have plans in place than to be caught unprepared.

Their host was still in his place at the balcony rail when Khalila at last made her way around to the far side of the room. Signalling to Glain to stay back, Khalila took advantage of her small size to slip into a small space between two statues along the wall behind him. From here, she had a good view of the man, and she was close enough to hear anything he said.

He looked to be of about average height, this Silver Fox, with a slender build and gray hair that fell in curling waves down past his shoulders. Dario would call him plain, but there was an elegance to the cut of his gray suit, and a shimmer in the silk of his cravat that caught the light. His gloves, too, were woven through with glittering silver threads, and his mask looked to be entirely made of silver. It covered only the top half of his face, allowing Khalila to see the brown skin of his clean-shaven chin, and the way his lips turned down in a frown very much like Christopher Wolfe's.

Khalila almost wished she had passed by the stage where Wolfe and Santi were presenting their rope demonstration; she'd seen them only at a distance, not long after she and Dario had arrived at the ball, and had avoided looking that way since. Difficult to be certain with only that one glance to go on, but she had a feeling that if she overlaid the mental image of Wolfe in his mask with the image of the man before her now, the resemblance would be uncanny.

Only a lazy researcher would allow herself to reach a conclusion so easily, though. Khalila kept watching, noting that Glain had joined the line of people waiting to speak with their host, pretending to look down over the rail while she waited. Maybe really looking; she was on duty, after all, and that meant watching for threats, but she certainly wouldn't be enjoying the view as some of the partygoers were.

There was, on closer observation, a nervousness to their host. On the surface, it seemed that he surveyed the room like a king surveying his kingdom, but he shifted his weight from one foot to the other too often, sipped his wine too frequently, and when a guest in a violet velvet suit shook his hand and thanked him for the invitation, the Fox was quick to let go.

"I am pleased to hear that you are enjoying the festivities," he said, and the sound of his voice was nearly enough to settle the question. Khalila knew that voice from countless meetings. "I trust the entertainment is to your liking?"

The ensuing small talk proved neither relevant nor interesting. It was a relief to see the guest finally move away and another move forward. Khalila was fairly certain she recognized this one. A man around the same age as their host, but his jeweled mask left much more of his face exposed than their host's fox mask did. One of the Obscurists, Khalila thought. He was in Thomas's lab a lot for collaborative projects with the Artifex department. What was his name? Pyotr?

When the two men clasped hands, there was real warmth in the gesture, and the Fox reached out to pull Pyotr into a brief embrace. "A pleasure to see you here, my friend. How are you holding up?"

Pyotr looked down over the railing at the flurry of activity below. "She would have loved this," he said in a voice heavy with emotion.

"That she would," the Fox said, signalling to a passing server and plucking a glass of wine from her tray. He held it out to Pyotr. "Drink to her memory with me?"

"Yes. To Annis," Pyotr said, raising his glass.

The Fox - Eskander, definitely - raised his glass and echoed the toast.

Khalila slipped away, leaving them their privacy.

* * *

In his peacock coat, Dario was easy to spot in the hallway leading to the bathrooms. He stood facing the wall, admiring a painting of a couple in the throes of passion, a small velvet bag in his hand. When Khalila tapped his shoulder, he whirled around and bowed, holding out the bag.

She took it by the drawstrings that held it closed. No reason to give him the satisfaction of seeing her probe its contents; she would see what he'd purchased soon enough. It wouldn't do to let him see how eager she was to find out. "Are you ready?" she signed.

With his mask covering his face, she couldn't tell if he was disappointed by her refusal to show any curiosity about the new toy. "Of course, my lady," he signed back.

In a display of impressive opulence, the mansion had an entire hall of generously sized bathrooms, enough that Khalila and Dario had their pick of several. Dario favored the one with more gold trim, naturally, and Khalila allowed him the choice. She could be a benevolent queen. With Glain standing guard outside the locked door, Khalila felt confident enough in their privacy to push Dario up against the nearest wall, pull aside her niqab and his mask, and kiss him. He could have escaped her. He had his superior size, the leverage of the wall, and hours of gymnasium work to his advantage. But he yielded, his knees bending to bring his lips level with hers, his mouth soft and pliant. He knew the rewards of obedience.

Licking her lips, she drew back to open the bag he'd given her, keeping him against the wall with an elbow to his chest. The object within the bag was sleek and smooth, cast entirely in gold, a roughly phallic shape with a ring at the base large enough to slip her finger through. Doing just that, she held it up, looking at it with exaggerated disdain. "Only the finest materials for your royal hole, my prince?"

He smiled, a sly smile that made his face look particularly handsome. "Only the finest materials for your exalted hands, my lady. And the finest technology. There is one of Thomas's Vibration Engines concealed within. If you touch the symbol on the ring to your Codex, it will link the controls and allow you to activate the vibration at any time."

"At any time, you say? That seems like it might be... distracting, for you." On closer inspection, there was a small symbol set into the ring, one she didn't recognize. She released her husband to take out her Codex and touch the ring to a blank page. Sure enough, words appeared, listing the commands she could enter to activate the device. There were several options to vary the pattern and intensity of vibration. _Fascinating._

Dario watched her with rapt attention, keeping his palms pressed against the wall. When she looked up from the Codex, he said, "Does it please you, my lady?"

She gifted him with a smile. "That it does. What remains to be seen is whether it will please you." As she spoke, she glanced quickly around the room. A toilet behind a gilded screen. A marble sink. An overstuffed velvet chair. Yes, that would do. "Bend over the chair and drop your trousers."

It was not a dignified position that she asked him to assume, but he made it look graceful, striding over to the chair as if it were a throne he were about to sit on and curling forward to lean on his forearms against the padded seat in a smooth motion that highlighted the strength and control in his muscles. He arched his back in a luxurious stretch, then reached up with just one hand to pull his long jacket to one side, unfasten his belt, and push down his trousers.

Praise Allah for giving her the foresight to wear enough layers that the dampness in her underwear would not show through. She had a truly magnificent view of her husband's magnificent body. The muscles of his thighs. The half-hard cock dangling between them. The balls, clean-shaven in the Egyptian style, perfectly smooth and begging to be squeezed. And his ass. Oh, his ass, as bronze as the rest of him thanks to the time he spent sunning himself in the nude. And all of it hers, hers to enjoy as she pleased.

Clearly, their host knew what guests would do with private bathrooms, as there was a shelf beside the sink stocked with extra towels, condoms, and an impressive selection of lubricants. One caught her eye: a ginger-infused oil. _That_ would make Dario squirm beautifully. Perhaps too much for what she had planned next, though. Storing the idea away for later use, she took out her own little bottle from her pocket and lubricated the gold plug, making it shine even more. It was, she had to admit, a beautiful piece of metalwork. Excessive for its purpose, of course, but that made it very suitable for Dario.

Holding the plug in one hand, she set her Codex down on the shelf and wrote the command to turn the vibration to its full intensity. Oh, yes, he would definitely be feeling that. He had to be able to hear the buzz of it, but he behaved himself, holding his position even as he hardened. With another stroke of her pen, she turned the vibration off.

Putting her Codex away in its pocket, she came up behind Dario to run her oil-slicked fingertips between his bare cheeks, feeling his muscles tighten at the touch and then relax, letting her in. She probably could have inserted the plug right then, but it was more enjoyable to begin with two fingers, very slowly, teasing him open wider while he quivered beneath her.

"Tell me, my prince," she said while she spread her fingers inside him, "Did Thomas have a whole case of these golden treasures? Or did he make this one just for you?"

"There are more," he breathed, "A ring. A jeweled wand. I thought of getting that one for you. But I had my orders."

"And you obeyed so well," she said, removing her fingers. "You were so very good, only buying this one thing. And since you were so good, you get to wear it." She positioned the plug, its gold tip against his waiting hole.

Dario trembled with desire. From nearly five years of marriage, Khalila knew how badly he wanted to thrust himself onto the plug, but he held himself still as she rubbed it against him, very gently, while he moaned, "Thank you, my lady."

The plug slid easily into place, the gold ring at the base a pretty decoration for the pink ring of muscle that clenched around the golden shaft. She reached around to stroke his erection, as hard as the golden plug. "I take it you like your new toy?"

"Oh, yes," he panted, "Thank you, my lady."

She gave his balls a light squeeze, then turned away from him and crossed to the sink to wash her hands. "Very good. Put yourself together, now. We have a ball to attend."

* * *

The evening air was pleasant, on the warmer side for this time of year, with soft breezes carrying the scent of the flowers in the gardens to the terrace outside the ballroom. There Khalila sat in an ornately carved chair, listening to the strains of music and bubbling of laughter that drifted out through the open doors, her fingers tangled in Dario's curls. He knelt with elegant posture at her feet, the look in his eyes the only evidence that the plug inside him pulsed with low vibration. She was just about to pull him in for a kiss when a servant arrived with the tray of refreshments she had requested.

Reluctantly, she let go of her husband's soft hair and signed her orders to him, which he wrote out in graceful script in his Codex. While he wrote, she turned the vibration in his plug off, getting a needy little whine from him, which she ignored. He would be grateful soon enough to be free of that distraction. He handed her the Codex as soon as he finished, and while she held it up for the servant to read, he went down on his hands and knees, his back as flat as the table he was intended to be, curls falling around his masked face as he let his head drop.

_The whiskey goes to my bodyguard, standing against the pillar there. Keep her glass full. The rest goes on the table._

If the servant was unaccustomed to beautiful men making themselves into tables, he didn't show it. He placed the tray on Dario's back as if it were something he did every day, then took the glass of whiskey to Glain. Khalila set Dario's Codex down in front of him, where he could see it easily, and surveyed the array of little dishes and cups on the tray. A pot of tea and two cups, three oysters, an assortment of spiced nuts, tiny pastries made with honey, apples, and figs, a bowl of berries, a smaller bowl of whipped cream, and a selection of fine chocolates. All chosen from a menu of aphrodisiacs.

She'd read enough Medica papers to know that the very concept of an aphrodisiac bordered on superstition, but that didn't make the thought of feeding Dario things intended to arouse him any less entertaining. Since he wouldn't be able to see her hands if she signed, she wrote her orders to him, watching the letters appear in his Codex even as she wrote them.

_You must be still. Spill even one drop of my tea, and you will be punished. You are to consume everything I am generous enough to offer you, and you will lick my gloves clean. If you are very good, I will allow you to lick my boots._

As the last words appeared in his Codex, she lifted a foot to rub against his chin, pulling her long skirts back to let him feel the leather of her boots. Soft white doeskin, as comfortable as they were beautiful. She'd taken care to keep him from seeing them, keeping them covered by her floor-length dress, and at the touch of leather on his skin, he gasped with enough force to make the dishes on the tray rattle. She dropped her foot back to the floor.

_That is not being good._

He hung his head lower and stilled himself. She kept him waiting, pouring herself a cup of tea full to the brim and changing her silk gloves for leather ones to match the boots, new and fragrant. He could smell them, she thought, by the way his breathing quickened, but he held himself still.

_That is better._

She took a strawberry from the bowl, dipped it into the cream, and brought it down in front of his face. He lifted his head and opened his mouth, waiting until she slid it into his mouth, smearing the cream on his lips. He chewed, swallowed, licked his lips and then her glove, moaning with appreciation as he sucked the fingers that had held the berry. She didn't let him have them for too long. Not yet.

The next few morsels went into Khalila's own mouth, two berries and a fig pastry, all slipped beneath the niqab and savored while she sat with legs crossed, one foot just out of reach in front of Dario's face where he could see and smell the leather. He didn't move, which meant it was time to push him harder. She took an oyster from the plate.

The salty shellfish did not at all fit with the selection of sweets on the tray, and she knew Dario didn't care for them. That, of course, was their entire purpose: an exercise in discipline.

_Three bites_, she wrote. _If you are good for these next three bites, I will have a reward for you._

Dario nodded. With the boot in his face, he probably hadn't smelled the oyster yet. Khalila wished his mask did not conceal his expression when she brought the shell down to his mouth. Was the downturn of his lips disgust? Resignation? His mouth opened and his body didn't move. She slid the oyster from its shell into his mouth.

He swallowed it quickly, not chewing, and his tongue was slower than it had been after the strawberry to emerge from between his lips to lick the juices from her fingers. A pitiful whine slipped from him when she withdrew her fingers.

_Good boy_, she wrote, and reached down to stroke his neatly-trimmed beard. _Two more_.

Looking out at the garden, she took a chocolate for herself and let it melt in her mouth while Dario suffered for her with the taste of the oyster in his. The paths between the flowerbeds were less crowded than the halls inside, but more than a few guests had slipped away for a quiet tumble behind the hedges and statues. Some tumbled less quietly. No fewer than six people had stripped off everything but their masks to splash together in the fountain in the middle of the garden, squealing with surprise and glee. Two had neatly trimmed hair and enough tattoos on their muscular bodies that they could only be High Garda. A pity Dario couldn't see them from his position. They were the type he admired.

When she finished the piece of chocolate, she fed Dario another oyster. He ate this one as quickly as the first, and he was faster this time to lick her fingers clean, as if hurrying to get it over with, but his back remained still and flat, and he kept himself quiet.

One of the soldiers in the fountain had herself bent backwards over the edge of it when Khalila looked back up, and as she watched, another chocolate on her tongue, the soldier beckoned to her companions. They surrounded her, one pushing his groin toward her face while another knelt between her legs, and the others came in from the sides with hands and mouths hungry for her body. That looked like the Russian ambassador with her mouth on the soldier's breast. Interesting. She was supposed to be home in Moscow.

But this was no time to think about politics. Khalila looked back at her husband and fed him the last oyster. This one, too, went down quickly, and he sucked her fingers with real enthusiasm. Eager to get the unpleasant taste of the shellfish off of the leather so he could enjoy its flavor. Smiling to herself, she pushed her fingers deep into his mouth and let him suck to his heart's content. After a moment, she used her other hand to write the command that set his plug vibrating. Only at its lowest setting, but that alone was enough to make him moan. The tea in her cup rippled, small waves striking the white porcelain like a miniature ocean. A calm one, still.

_You are being very good. Is there something you would like to eat, my good boy?_

Something of a dilemma for him, that question. Without the buzzing of the plug, he would certainly have been able to balance well enough to lift a hand and write or sign an answer. With it, he would have to work harder. For a moment, he remained still, and Khalila wondered if he had decided the reward would not be worth the effort. But then, slowly, his hand lifted, and he wrote, _Chocolate. Did you get the ones with chili peppers?_

So he wanted something intense enough to overwhelm the taste of the oysters. Understandable. The chili pepper truffles were one of the more interesting items on the menu they'd ordered from, and there were two among the chocolates on the tray, both very dark and dusted with cinnamon sugar. She placed one on her own tongue before giving the other to Dario, tasting the sweet cinnamon mixed with bitter chocolate. He bit down on it quickly and moaned the way he did when she spanked him. A second later, she understood why as the outer layer of the truffle melted away in her own mouth, giving way to the intense heat of the rich, creamy filling.

A little painful, but in a luxurious way. She wished she'd ordered more of those.

Between the plug and the heat of the truffle, Dario was panting, his hips quivering enough to make the feathered tail of his jacket sway. Khalila took another sip of tea, and while she drank, she turned the vibration up and rubbed a boot against his neck. Dario whined, jaw tight, body going rigid.

_More to eat, my good boy?_

All he managed this time was a nod. Both hands remained on the ground with fingertips curled. Though she couldn't see his groin with his jacket in the way, Khalila was sure his cock was hard and dripping, maybe leaking onto the beautiful sapphire blue silk of his trousers.

Time for the finishing touch. A stroke of the pen to increase the plug's vibration. A strawberry dipped so deeply into the cream that she had to cup her other hand beneath it to catch the drips until she held it over her boot. Just the slightest tilt of her hand and the cream slid from the berry and onto her boot.

Dario groaned. She put the berry into his mouth, silencing him long enough to write her orders.

_My boot needs to be cleaned. Use your tongue, and do not spill my tea. Do it well, and I will let you come. _

She brought her foot just close enough to his face that he could reach it. He stretched his neck forward and extended his tongue to lick the toe of the boot. No cream there; he only wanted to taste the leather, and she let him, enjoying the sight of his mouth at work. When he had thoroughly bathed the leather with short, slow licks, he kissed the toe of the boot and worked his way upward. He let his tongue spread wide with each stroke, taking in as much of the leather as he could. When he got to the first drop of cream, he let out a deep moan while he licked, and a shiver ran through him, making the waves in the teacup grow larger.

He made a pretty picture, as he always did, and the sight of him with cream on his lips and tongue made her wish she'd had him buy one of Thomas's toys for her as well as for himself. There had to be one she could use to satisfy the growing throbbing between her legs. But she could be patient. Perhaps she would do a bit of shopping of her own before she took Dario home and ravished him. Finished licking the boot in its entirety, Dario kissed the top of it and let his head drop, panting heavily. Near his limit. Khalila took the tray from his back and settled it into her own lap before writing, _Good boy. On your knees now, facing me, hands behind your back. _

The vibrating plug must have made movement a challenge, because he looked almost clumsy as he shifted into the requested position. His pupils were very wide behind his mask, and his lips parted as he panted. Beautiful.

Khalila took one more chocolate from the tray, a dark caramel topped with a few crystals of salt, and held it to his lips. His mouth opened wider, and he accepted it from her, closing his lips around her fingers until she pulled them away. She put her boot, the same one he had just cleaned, on the bulge in his trousers and wrote the command to turn the vibration as high as it could go.

"You may come," she signed.

He closed his eyes, moaning in relief and pleasure as she rubbed her toe in circles over his erection. She had not even enough time to savor a final chocolate herself before he came with a groan, wobbling on his knees as a wet spot spread across the silk that covered his groin. When she rubbed her toe against that wet spot, he whined as if in pain.

All her thoughts of waiting until they were somewhere more private to find her own satisfaction fled her mind at the sight of her beloved husband looking so thoroughly debauched, shaking and panting and helpless before her. Hastily, she set the tray of food aside on the ground and pulled him in toward her lap with one hand, lifting her skirts over his head as she did. The voluminous folds of white silk were nearly enough to cover him completely. Certainly enough to conceal her body from any wandering eyes.

Even in his current state, Dario knew what she was asking, and he pulled her underwear aside and pushed up his mask to begin his work, though he gave another pained whine as he did, wiggling his bottom.

_Oh. The plug._

Khalila fumbled for her pen and wrote the command to stop the vibration.

Dario moaned with gratitude. A moment later, his tongue found its target, and she was as much his as he was hers.


	4. Anit/Katja: Lingerie, Cross-Dressing, Biting, Hair Pulling

Anit put down her final card - slipped from the sleeve of her jacket, of course - and let a smile spread across her face. "I win, Mr. Black."

Katja flashed her a wolfish grin. "Certainly not, Mr. Red. You took that card from your sleeve."

"Did I? Which sleeve was it, then?"

That wiped the grin from Katja's face. She'd been bluffing, then, and hadn't seen Anit's sleight of hand. "The left," she guessed.

With a grin of her own, Anit turned to the Obscurist acting as their dealer. "Well, Miss Sybilla? Does Mr. Black have the _right_ of it?"

Sybilla, a pale and slender girl who Anit suspected was quite lovely beneath her fearsome Medusa mask, shook her head. "No, sir. The card you played was taken from your right sleeve." She tapped the card, activating the hidden alchemical symbol inscribed in it to reveal that it was, in fact, from the set of cards Anit had hidden in her right sleeve.

It was always fun to cheat at cards with Katja and try to catch each other in the act, but the addition of an Obscurist added a whole new dimension of enjoyment to the game. They'd found her here in this smoky little parlor with a few other Obscurists, all dealing games with alchemically marked cards to _prevent_ cheating. A few coins under the table and whispered promises had been enough to lure her over to this small corner table, away from the larger games, to deal according to Anit and Katja's private rules. They played with five decks, each one marked with a different hidden symbol, one that Sybilla dealt from, and two each to conceal for purposes of cheating. The object of the game was to win without being caught, or to successfully catch the other. And the penalties for failure, well...

With a roll of her eyes, Katja put her cards face down on the table. She pulled the black silk glove from her left hand and passed it to Sybilla. "A token of my affection, Miss Sybilla." She didn't have much else to take off, with her shirt, vest, and trousers all scattered on the floor around her chair, leaving her in a brocade corset that barely came high enough to cover her nipples, matching shorts tight enough to leave none of her curves to the imagination, knee-high stockings, a single glove, and her jacket.

Anit wasn't faring any better. She still had her trousers along with her jacket, but both her gloves and her hat were gone, along with her tie, which was currently looped around Sybilla's neck.

That was definitely a blush on the Obscurist's face, showing beneath the green of her mask. "Thank you, sir. And this, I believe, is yours." She picked up one of the cards from the table and held it out to Katja.

Damn. Anit had missed that one.

She didn't miss the way Katja's hand lingered on Sybilla's while they exchanged cards. Or the look that Katja shot her as Sybilla shuffled the deck.

Anit gave Katja a slight nod and took her cards. A weak hand. She was going to have to do something about that. Waiting until Katja looked distracted by her own hand of cards, Anit swapped two with cards from her left sleeve. When she put the cards down, she was disappointed to find that Katja still had the winning cards.

"Really, Mr. Red? Cheating and you still can't come up with the winning hand. This time I'm sure they were from the left."

A wave of Sybilla's hand, now covered by Katja's glove, confirmed it, and Anit bowed. "Excellent catch, Mr. Black. Unlike you, I will not be so shy as to remove only a glove." With her eyes locked on Katja's, she stood and dropped her trousers, kicking them toward Katja under the table. When she sat down again, she draped both her legs over the arms of her chair, spreading them wide to put her blood-red lace panties in full view. The second pair she'd worn tonight, the first having been thoroughly ruined by her demonstration of Thomas's vibrating toys with Katja earlier. She was rather fond of these, and of the matching bra and garter belt she wore with them.

Katja licked her lips. "Trying to distract me with the view, are you?"

"You don't have to look," Anit said with a shrug, reaching for the next hand of cards. Somewhat awkward in this position, but worth it to see Sybilla's reaction.

Sybilla was definitely looking. Looking, and blushing redder beneath her mask.

Taking her cards, Katja leaned forward to give both Sybilla and Anit a good look at just how well her corset shaped her chest. "Plenty to see here, too," she said. Looking down at her cards, she raised an eyebrow and added, "And here. Hope you have something good there, Mr. Red."

Anit did, for once. No need to even cheat, which made it especially fun to watch Katja smugly sipping her mead as she played her cards. Good stuff, that mead. It was one of Katja's favorites, extremely potent and brewed from a recipe dating back to the Vikings, if the brewer was to be believed. Anit didn't make a habit of believing anyone trying to sell her things, but she'd still ordered their entire stock for the ball. What was the purpose of taking a contract as the sole liquor supplier for an event of this scale if not to ensure that the ball would be adequately stocked with drinks that pleased her girlfriend? Well, that and the very impressive profits.

It came as something of a surprise when Katja's hand came up equal to Anit's own. That should have been impossible. Katja must have cheated, but when...? Anit frowned. Of course. While she'd been looking down Katja's corset, that must have been when Katja switched her cards. Now, how had she been sitting? Recreating the image as well as she could in her mind, Anit took her best guess. "A clever ruse there, Mr. Black, but I know you took cards from your pocket while you were showing us your... assets."

Katja leaned back in her chair to take another sip of mead. "Miss Sybilla? Have I done anything of the sort?"

"No, sir," Sybilla said. The cards glowed under her gloved hand, revealing the symbol for the deck Katja had concealed in her sleeves. Damn. Anit hadn't spotted that at all. "Your accusation is false, Mr. Red."

Well, shit. She'd been down to only her jacket, and its loss would mean her loss. Only one thing to do about that. Rolling her shoulders, Anit said, "Come and take your prize, then, sir."

"Do you see what she does to me?" Katja said to Sybilla, making her way around the table to loom over Anit. "Are we doing this the easy way or the hard way, Mr. Red?"

Anit leaned further back in her chair. "Oh, you know I prefer things hard, sir."

The next thing she knew, Katja was dragging her up out of her seat by her lapels and pulling her in for a fierce kiss that swiftly turned to a series of bites to her tongue, her lips, her jaw, and down to her neck, where she sunk her teeth in hard enough to make Anit hot between the legs. With her teeth still on Anit's neck, Katja turned her and pushed her up against the table to yank the jacket off. There, Katja paused to lift her head and hold the jacket out to Sybilla. "You would like to retrieve the cards this little thief secreted away in here, I presume?"

Sybilla took the jacket. "Thank you, sir. Will that be all, then?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Katja said, sliding a hand up Anit's thigh as she spoke. "You're more than welcome to watch. Or maybe you'd like to join me in punishing this thief?"

Sybilla leaned forward, tenting her fingers in front of her on the table. "What sort of punishment did you have in mind, Mr. Black?"

"Well, to begin with-"

Anit didn't let Katja finish that thought. Seizing her opportunity, she pushed the bigger girl back into the chair Anit herself had just been dragged from, climbing into her lap and working a hand into her corset to pinch a nipple. "I think not, sir," she said. "Miss Sybilla, what do you say to helping me punish this big thief?"

Katja bared her teeth. "Mr. Red, do you really think you can-"

A sharp pinch to her nipple cut her off, leaving her mouth wide open for a kiss. Anit gave as good as she'd gotten, applying her teeth to good effect while she ground her clit against Katja's thigh.

That lasted for all of a delicious instant before Katja had her by the hair and yanked her head back, standing as she did to put Anit against the table once more. "I am going to have my way with you, right here on this table, and you are not going to stop me." Roughly, she squeezed Anit's breast through the thin lace of the bra, pushing her backward as she did until Anit's back was against the smooth wood of the table.

Pinned by her hair and her breast, Anit was in no position to escape, and Katja held herself too high above Anit to get another bite in. Her hands were still free, though, and she got one into Katja's shorts to rub the slick folds of her labia. She grinned up at Katja while her fingers sought the source of that wetness. "Seems to me that you might prefer that _I_ have _my_ way with _you_, Mr. Black." With a tug of her head that sent delicious bursts of pain through her scalp, she got enough of her hair free of Katja's grasp to turn to Sybilla. "If you'd be so kind as to give me a hand here, Miss Sybilla, I'd be glad to share."

Sybilla remained where she was, her expression hidden by the mask. "I think," she said, "That I will allow the two of you to work this out on your own. This is a most enjoyable performance, and I would not dream of bringing it to a premature conclusion. Perhaps I might offer my favor to the victor of this little wrestling match, whichever of you that may be." She leaned further forward as she spoke, offering a glimpse of the round breasts beneath her glittering green gown.

Well, there was motivation right there. She got a leg wrapped around Katja's thigh and wriggled her other foot up onto the table, giving her enough leverage to push out of Katja's grasp, seizing Katja's arm as she did to twist behind her back and push her face down onto the table. Holding Katja by that arm, Anit brought the fingers that had just been in Katja's shorts to her lips, noisily licking the juices from them. "Oh, my, Mr. Black. I do think you want to be punished."

"Not at all, Mr. Red," Katja said, squirming against Anit's hold in a way that made her brocade-clad bottom rub deliciously against Anit's groin. "This is all from the thought of punishing _you_." She got her free arm under her and began to push up on it.

Anit leaned around to bite that arm, right on the meaty biceps, drawing an indignant howl from Katja and knocking her off balance enough that Anit could push her back down against the table. "Just keep telling yourself that, sir," she said, delivering a firm slap to Katja's ass. "I know what you like." She slipped her hand back into Katja's shorts and found her clit, rubbing hard enough to make Katja groan, and biting her arm again for good measure. "Don't want me to stop now, do you?"

"On the contrary," Katja grunted, "I do. I'm going to make you come first." She'd gotten her hand braced against the table again, and this time she pushed up too quickly for Anit to stop her. Catching Anit by the arms, she lifted her and put her back on the table, pushing her down while straddling one thigh to grind against it. "Oh yes, much better like this, don't you agree, sir?" she asked, pulling one of Anit's breasts free from the bra and twisting her nipple between two fingers.

As good as the fingers on her nipple felt, Anit was not about to give in so easily. "Not in the least, Mr. Black. I am not through with you yet." She grabbed for Katja's chest, only to have her hand caught and pinned to the table above her head. When she tried to free herself with her other hand, Katja caught that one too, holding both Anit's wrists in a strong grip.

Katja bent over Anit and bit her on the exposed nipple, a lightning bolt of pain that went straight to her clit, making her hips buck entirely of their own accord. "Now, Mr. Red, since you are being so troublesome, I am afraid I have only one hand free to play with you. Where shall I put it, hmm?" She tangled her fingers in Anit's hair, pulling her head back to bite her neck. "Here?" A sharp pull, and she released Anit's hair, trailing her hand down to Anit's breast to give it another firm squeeze. "Or maybe here?"

Groaning, Anit bucked against Katja, seeking satisfaction for the growing need between her legs. "I think you'll find more interesting things lower down, sir."

"Will I, now?" Katja brought her hand slowly downward, circling Anit's stomach, tracing the top edge of her panties, then following the lace down to the crease of her thigh. "Are you telling me you want my hand in your cunt, sir?"

Anit lifted her hips to increase the pressure against that hand, only to hiss in frustration when Katja drew her hand back. "What's wrong? Can't find my clit without a map, Mr. Black?"

Katja laughed and bit Anit's nipple again. "I'm waiting for you to ask nicely, Mr. Red." Her fingertips danced back into range, tickling against the lace and darting away again when Anit's hips rose to meet them. Katja's own hips rolled in a slow circle against Anit's thigh, rubbing the moistened brocade of her shorts against bare and sensitive skin. "What do you want me to do?"

There was no escape now. Anit could think of ways to get free of Katja's grasp, but none that would satisfy the ache in her clit. No choice but to accept defeat. "I want you to put your fucking fingers in my cunt and your thumb on my clit."

"Such a foul-mouthed little thief you are," Katja said, hooking a finger through the lace side of Anit's panties. "I said, I am waiting for you to ask _nicely_."

Anit thought she might explode if she had to wait much longer. "Please, sir, please make me come."

With a quick jerk of her hand, Katja tore the panties away. "Much better, sir," she purred, putting her hand exactly where Anit had asked. Three fingers slid easily into Anit's slick and waiting opening, and her powerful thumb pressed against Anit's clit. "Now, Mr. Red, will you concede that I have won this little competition?"

As if she could do anything else, with that thumb circling, driving her to near madness. "Yes. Yes, you win, sir."

"That's what I like to hear," Katja breathed. Her hand quickened its pace, thrusting and circling, while her teeth found Anit's neck and worked their way down toward her breast in a series of quick, sharp nips, each sending a wave of pleasure rolling through Anit's body.

She strained, hips bucking wildly, yelping and moaning with each bite, all thoughts of control gone beneath the practiced work of Katja's hand. Turning her head to the side, she could see Sybilla sitting there, leaned forward with chin in hands, her chest heaving with panting breaths.

Katja's thumb pressed in harder, and Anit was gone, brought to a screaming orgasm there on the table before Sybilla's eyes.

While Anit lay spent, Katja withdrew her hand and brought a finger to her lips to lick it clean. "She has a fine flavor today," the larger girl said, holding her hand out toward Sybilla. "Would you fancy a taste, Miss Sybilla?"

Sybilla pushed up her mask, just enough to let Katja's fingers pass between her pink lips. "Mmmm. That she does, sir. And what of your flavor, Mr. Black? Is it as fine?"

Anit pushed up onto her elbows, still panting, but strongly considering the possibility that she might have another round left in her yet.

"You'd like a taste, would you, Miss Sybilla?"

Those soft pink lips turned upward in a wicked grin. "Yes, I think I might. But first, tell me, Mr. Black, is that tongue of yours good for more than talking?"

"That it is, Miss Sybilla. Allow me to demonstrate."

As Katja dropped to her knees before Sybilla's chair, Anit scrambled off of the table and slumped back into her chair for a better view. Yes, she thought, she would definitely be ready for another round after this.


	5. Jess/Thomas: Fucking Machine

With the curtains still drawn around the stage, Jess made the final adjustments to what was already his favorite of Thomas's inventions. It didn't look particularly impressive at first glance. Just a box, covered in red velvet fabric because Thomas thought it would look more suitable for a bedroom that way. On one side - currently the top, though it could be positioned in any direction - a steel rod emerged from a small hole, threaded to allow an attachment to be screwed on. The device could have been anything without the attachment, but once that piece was added, its purpose was unmistakable.

Especially when the attachment in question was a lifelike replica of Thomas's generously-sized cock.

Jess was very fond of that cock.

Finished with his lecture on the mechanics of the device, conducted using charts and diagrams to show its inner workings, Thomas slipped through the curtain. "Jess? Are you ready?"

Jess drizzled the cock with lubricant and spread the slippery liquid over its surface with slow, suggestive strokes of his hand, watching Thomas's face redden as he did. "More than ready. I can't wait to have you pound me in front of all these people."

He couldn't see nearly enough of Thomas's face between the mask and his beard, but what Jess could see turned a magnificent red. "We have talked about this. That is not me. It is a machine."

Standing with a slow stretch that he knew would show off his flexibility and his bare ass, Jess went to Thomas and took him by the hand to pull him toward the chair positioned just behind the machine. "It's _your_ machine, love. And _your_ cock. You made them both. That means it's you fucking me, and that's more than half of what I love about it."

"Fucking by proxy. Yes. We have discussed this." Nervous laughter bubbled up from Thomas's throat. "You are trying to put me at ease with this teasing."

Though Thomas was easily twice his size, Jess was able to push him down into the chair with no effort at all, just a bit of gentle pressure on his shoulders. "Caught in the act," he said, leaning in for a kiss. "You're sure you want to do this? I can do it on my own."

He had already tested it on his own several times, after the first time under Thomas's watch in the workshop. Thomas was uncomfortable with penetration, so it only made sense to leave him out of any play involving that particular act. This machine was Thomas's gift to him, and Jess could think of no deeper display of love than the time and effort Thomas had taken to design a machine that would provide Jess with the one form of stimulation he had no desire to provide himself.

"No." Thomas shook his head. "If my mechanical proxy is going to fuck you, then I am going to hold you while it does."

Jess grinned. "Well, then, let's get on with it, shall we?" Walking with a graceful stride that showed off his lean and exposed legs, he crossed the stage to pull the rope that opened the curtains.

With the spotlight shining down on them, Jess climbed into Thomas's lap. Sitting at the edge of his chair near the front of the stage with his invention positioned between his legs and the dragon mask on his face, Thomas must have looked imposing to their audience. All Jess could see was his nervousness, though. Five years of healthy eating had put a comfortable layer of padding on Thomas's large frame, but beneath that layer of softness, his muscles were tense, and when his arms wrapped around Jess, they gripped tightly. A change in plans would only make things worse, so Jess stayed in the position they'd agreed upon, sitting with his back to Thomas and his front to the audience, resisting the urge to turn, but he looked back over his shoulder to kiss Thomas's bearded cheek. Not the simplest maneuver, but one he'd perfected over the course of the night.

"It's going to be fine," he whispered. "They'll all love it. You'll see."

Thomas gave him a quick squeeze, then loosened a bit. "You're ready?"

"More than ready, love." Jess took one of Thomas's hands and pulled it down to touch his rock-hard cock.

After the assault he'd perpetrated against his own nerves in their demonstration of the Vibration Engine earlier, Jess didn't feel Thomas's touch nearly as keenly as he might have under normal circumstances, but it was still pleasant to have that powerful hand stroking him. Jess leaned back into Thomas's chest and hummed his approval, and slowly, Thomas opened his legs until Jess could feel the dildo against his backside. Just a bit off from the necessary position. He shifted himself, squirming in Thomas's grip, until he could get it lined up.

With the tip of the dildo pressed against him, he looked up at the audience. They'd drawn a large crowd for this, in no small part due to the rumors that he and Anit had carefully spread in casual conversations throughout the night. There was Anit now, with Katja, their suits a little disheveled. Between them stood a young woman Jess didn't recognize, dressed in a glittering green gown and a Medusa mask that might have been more grotesque if not for Anit's top hat perched at a lopsided angle atop it. Catching his eye and winking, Katja leaned in to kiss their new friend's neck. Well, they'd certainly been having a good time. Further back, he saw Dario, still a sparkling peacock, with Khalila at his side and Glain lurking behind them. Somehow, even in a mask that covered her full head, Glain managed to glower at him. He couldn't make out Khalila's expression behind her niqab and mask, but he was glad she'd decided to watch. He had a feeling that she and Dario would want one of these machines.

No sign of Wolfe and Santi. Holding up their end of the agreement to maintain privacy and spare everyone some awkward conversations the next time they all go together for dinner. Jess was grateful for that. It was going to be awkward enough to deal with Glain after this, let alone the men who had become his fathers.

Fox-masked and watchful, their host looked down at the stage from his place on the balcony, a spot he'd hardly left all night. According to Anit's reports before the ball and Khalila's Codex messages during, the man was more than likely Eskander. Knowing that made it a bit awkward to see him there. That was Wolfe's father, and thus Jess's honorary grandfather, though he barely knew the man. Probably fortunate that Jess hadn't had much interaction with the Iron Tower since...

No. He wouldn't fall into that pit of grief tonight. Morgan would have loved this. The freedom of anonymity and exploration. And she would want him to have a good time.

"Start it up, love," he said to Thomas.

With his foot, Thomas tapped a button on the side of the box, and the dildo pressed into Jess's waiting ass. Slow and easy, this first stroke, and the machine stopped when its rod was fully extended, giving Jess a moment to get used to the feeling of fullness.

Thomas's cock stretched him wide and pushed in deep, and he loved every inch of it. He wriggled his bottom just a bit lower down until the molded balls at the cock's base touched his cheeks. There. Perfect.

"Ready for some motion now."

Thomas chuckled. "So impatient."

Another tap of Thomas's foot against the box, and the rod slowly slid back down until only the head of the cock remained inside Jess. It stopped again. Jess whined. "Keep it going."

"You are comfortable with the range of motion, then?"

"Yes. What I am uncomfortable with is the current lack of motion."

"Well, then. We will fix that." He was sounding more relaxed, now. The focus on operating the machine was helping.

Thomas's boot tapped another button, and the rod slid inward again, slow and smooth. It reached its maximum depth and withdrew, still slow. With every stroke, the cock rubbed Jess's prostate, creating a delicious pressure in the one sensitive place he hadn't already overworked with the vibrating toys.

He was more than ready to overwork it now, and this slow pace was just not accomplishing that goal.

"Give it a little more speed?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Failing.

Thomas kissed the back of his head. "Soon. We must thoroughly demonstrate the capabilities of the machine. Not everyone is like you. Some will want it to be gentle."

Gentle. Fine. He could show them what it looked like to be gently fucked by a mechanical lover. With a dramatic sigh, he leaned back into Thomas's embrace, rocking his hips against the machine's steady penetration while he reached an arm back to tangle his fingers in Thomas's hair. His blond curls were growing long again, more from neglect of haircuts than intentional choice, and Jess focused on the feeling of those curls on his fingers, trying to ignore the tension building lower in his body.

That hand on his cock was not helping. Like the machine's thrusts, its slow jerking was nowhere near enough to get him off, and more than enough to make waiting painful.

"Thomas?" he said in his most enticing voice.

"Yes, _hasenfürzchen_?"

It was all Jess could do not to laugh at the use of that particular nickname in such an unlikely situation. The next thrust of the machine got his mind quickly back on track, though. "Take your hand off my cock, will you? Let them see how it moves around?"

"Hmm." Thomas loosened his hand, then moved it down to pet Jess's thigh. The difference in sensation was immediate; nothing but air against his skin, shaft and balls bouncing in time with each thrust of the dildo. "Yes, that is good. A good demonstration of the force of the thrusts."

Jess could have done with a bit more force to those thrusts, but knowing he wasn't about to change Thomas's mind on the matter of properly demonstrating his invention, he tried to relax and enjoy the moment. Thomas was warm and soft and held him so securely. He had the eyes of what seemed like half of Alexandria on him, including more than a few people he hoped to have sex with in the near future.

Dario, in particular, looked intrigued, and Jess let himself imagine that it was the sight of his bouncing cock that had the Spaniard leaning forward like that, his hand tight on Khalila's as if he was having trouble keeping his balance. Just as likely it was the larger artificial cock thrusting into his ass that had Dario's interest, but Jess still intended to bring the subject up next time they went out for drinks. Might lead to some fun.

Katja had her arm around her new friend's shoulders and was whispering something in the woman's ear. Something filthy, by the grin on her barely-masked face. Jess had a feeling she was going to want one of these machines, too. Maybe she'd let him give her a lesson in the finer points of its operation.

Anit stood with arms crossed and an assessing look on her face. If she was impressed by the demonstration so far, she wasn't showing it.

Well, she would be soon enough. All of them would be.

He let his fingers entwine themselves more tightly in Thomas's hair. Not too much, Thomas didn't care for pain, but enough to get his attention. "Think they've seen enough gentle. How about we have your mechanical proxy give me a good pounding now, love?"

Thomas's arm tightened around Jess, and his foot shifted toward the button. "You are insatiable, aren't you? I should make you beg the way Katja does."

Jess groaned. "Thomas. My love. Do you need me to beg? Because I can beg."

Nuzzling Jess's hair, Thomas said, "That will not be necessary, _schatzi. _You should turn around now, and let me hold you."

Wriggling his fingers out of Thomas's curls, Jess brought his arm around to face his entire body forward again, settling his shoulders back against the expanse of Thomas's chest. Such a wonderful chest Thomas had. So strong, but soft, too. Not soft as Katja's was, and certainly not in the way that Morgan's had been, but its own kind of softness, a softness of downy hair and fat layered evenly over firm muscle.

He kept thinking of Morgan, he realized with a start, while Thomas shifted his arms for a more secure hold. He hadn't in a while. It seemed an odd time for those thoughts, all things considered. He was seconds from what he expected to be one of the most intense orgasms he'd had with Thomas, and he was thinking of Morgan.

_Let go, Jess. Enjoy this without grief._

He wasn't sure if that was his own voice he heard, or hers.

An instant later, it didn't matter. Thomas's foot found the button, and the dildo thrust into him with speed and power that drove all other thoughts from his mind.

He had not even time enough to breathe between thrusts, each as brutal as the last. He couldn't have stayed upright without the stability of Thomas's embrace. He'd barely kept himself on hands and knees when he'd tried the machine that way. His cock swung wildly with the force of the machine's pounding, almost painful, until Thomas caught it in a firm grip. Not jerking, just holding it the same way he held Jess's body.

Harsh, mechanical, and relentless, it pounded away at his prostate, setting off explosions of sensation with every cycle of its gears. Jess didn't know whether Thomas had made his machine capable of such power out of ignorance of the mechanics of penetration stemming from his own discomfort with the act, or whether Thomas had made it this way out of consideration for Jess's need for this feeling of being utterly obliterated from within. Regardless, it obliterated him.

Above the hum of the machine's engine, he heard cries. His own. Soft murmuring in German. Thomas.

Everything else was beyond his narrowing senses.

There was Thomas, and there was the machine, and there was himself, and he was nothing more than a body to be held and penetrated.

The final explosion of pleasure tore even that thought from his mind, leaving him a blank and throbbing expanse.

He missed most of the auction. Thomas shut the machine off as soon as he came, of course, and lifted him and cleaned him, but he was hardly aware of any of that. There were the echoes of his orgasm, and there was the pleasant soreness that always followed a good fuck, and not much else seemed to matter. As awareness crept back in, he found himself wrapped in a blanket on a couch at the back of the stage with Glain at his side, holding out a glass of water.

"Thomas gives his apologies," she said. "No one was willing to wait until you came back to your senses. Well. Back to what passes as senses for you. Can't say you have anything I'd call sense after watching that."

Taking the glass from her, Jess said, "Sorry." He felt he should have said more, but he couldn't think of the words. He gulped down the water, and when she offered him a strawberry from a tray on the table beside her, he ate it whole.

"Looks like this little side business of yours is taking off," she said, nodding toward the crowd gathered around the stage.

Jess looked toward them, blinking until the blurry shapes resolved into recognizable faces. There were a lot of them, and it took him a moment to pick out the ones he recognized. Katja and Anit had moved off to the side with their new friend, talking and laughing among themselves as they observed the proceedings. Not bidding, then. Jess was a bit surprised by that. He'd been sure Katja would be interested in the machine, and Anit might have used it in a business venture she'd discussed with Jess a few times.

Then Jess made sense of the numbers, and he understood. No one in their right mind would pay that much for a sex toy. Not even this one.

Naturally, that meant Dario was right up in front of the crowd, waving a Codex with what looked to be the highest bid written on its pages in elegant script. Enough to buy a steam carriage.

The crowd quieted at that. Just long enough for Eskander to shout an even higher bid from the balcony.

Dario looked ready to make a counteroffer, but Khalila seized his hand and the two began what appeared to be a furious conversation in sign. Dario bowed his head and lowered his Codex.

Over the silence, Thomas called out, "Going once! Going twice!"

At the last second, an American-accented voice shouted out a bid that nearly doubled Eskander's. A woman in a mosaic-patterned mask wearing only a skirt made of an iridescent, nearly transparent material Jess had never seen before. The tattoo on her shoulder looked familiar, but he couldn't place it.

Eskander turned away from the railing, conceding to the new bidder, who walked up to the stage with a bold stride that made Jess even more certain he recognized her from somewhere.

Jess couldn't hear what she said to Thomas, but he could see Thomas go red under his mask. Money was exchanged, and the machine left in the hands of its apparently satisfied buyer.

Thomas looked stunned as he walked over to join Jess and Glain. "That was the Artifex Magnus. The Artifex Magnus just offered me a job. At a higher salary than I am paid now. She did not know it was me, of course."

Jess and Glain exchanged a look at that. Even with the dragon mask on his face, Thomas was unmistakably large and blonde, and after years in Alexandria, his German accent remained strong. But then, the Artifex department wasn't known for its skill with people. Maybe she really hadn't recognized him. Best to let Thomas assume he maintained his anonymity, either way.

"Going to take it?" Glain asked, rising from the couch to offer her seat to Thomas, who all but collapsed into it.

"I do not know at all," Thomas said. "This is not the work I wanted to become famous for. It was a toy. An amusement for Jess, to help with his peculiar tastes."

"Guess my tastes aren't so peculiar after all," Jess said, shifting to lay across Thomas's lap. Very comfortable, there.

"And since we've moved onto the subject of things I have no interest in knowing," Glain said, "I have work to do. I've left the peafowl unattended long enough, I think." A brisk salute to them both, and she strode off toward Khalila and Dario, who had taken to the dance floor.

Thomas draped an arm around Jess. "No, you are not so peculiar after all, _schatzi. _But what do you think? Should I take the job?"

Jess looked up at him with what felt like a devious grin, but was probably a more drunken expression. "Of course you should. But not as yourself. See, if we do this right, we can have you bringing in two salaries. You'll work anonymously, meet through intermediaries..."

"That is a mad scheme. Completely mad. You are still out of your mind from my mechanical proxy, aren't you?"

Snuggling into Thomas, Jess let his eyes drift closed. "Maybe. Maybe I am. Be my pillow while I sleep it off?"

He could work on bringing Thomas around on this scheme tomorrow.


	6. Naomi/Celia/Wolfe/Santi: Abrasion Play, Velvet, Vampire gloves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naomi and Celia have been enjoying the softer side of the ball when they run into Wolfe and Santi, who are relaxing after their intense scene from Chapter 2. Celia is curious about the spiked glove Wolfe is using on Santi, which leads to the four of them enjoying some sensory play.
> 
> Celia's last name is not mentioned because she's divorced Callum by this point and I haven't decided what her last name will be post-divorce.

Watching Celia stroll through the garden with her head held high in her mask of sparkling leaves, Naomi Ebele decided that it had been very much worth the trouble of convincing her shy lover to attend this celebration of debauchery. The disguise loosened something in Celia, letting out the curiosity and enthusiasm for life that Naomi usually only saw in private. Celia could have been a the woodland spirit she'd dressed as, entirely at ease in her surroundings, pausing every now and then to sniff a flower or admire a sculpture. Naomi followed behind, content to let Celia set the pace.

They made an odd pair. Like many couples in attendance, they'd chosen a common theme for their costumes, both taking inspiration from the nymphs of myth, but while Naomi wore only thin bands of embroidered flowers and vines across her chest and around her hips, Celia wore a green velvet gown in a conservative English cut that covered her from neck to feet. It was only upon closer examination that the playfulness of Celia's gown became apparent. Embroidered flowering vines wound their way around Celia's curves, drawing the eye every bit as much as Naomi's strapped-together garment. For those eyes that made the effort to look, at least. Most of the revelers they passed stared openly at Naomi without giving Celia a second glance, which suited them both well enough. Celia preferred to be hidden in plain sight. Naomi preferred to hide nothing.

She did, however, prefer to avoid some elements of the celebration. There were pleasures she and Celia both preferred not to partake in, and people neither of them cared to see in this context. The main difficulty of the night lay in keeping Celia well away from her son and his friends, though that hadn't proven especially challenging thus far. Scholar Wolfe had been kind enough to pass a few warnings along when he'd learned Naomi and Celia planned to attend, and moreover, Jess had _very_ different tastes than his mother. Fortunate for all involved. Easy enough to whisper in Celia's ear that the entertainments in the ballroom were of the harsher variety and guide her toward the galleries and gardens.

Erotic art never failed to enrapture Celia, who had a great appreciation of the human form in its myriad variances, and the gallery their host had assembled along a long hall had lived up to expectations. From there, they'd attended a delightful workshop on body painting in which Celia had added flowers to Naomi's costume with glittery paints, and Naomi had painted roses on Celia's hands in a red bright enough to show through the lace of her gloves. After that, drinks and a reading of a scandalous new novel, then out to the gardens. All in all, a pleasant way to spend the evening, with the promise of more to come.

Turning away from the statue of Aphrodite she'd stopped to examine, Celia returned to Naomi's side and wrapped an arm around her waist. "You're sure you aren't cold, darling?" Her English stood out from the background hum of Greek conversation like a line in gold ink on a page written in dull pencil.

"I like being cold," Naomi replied, also in English, placing her own arm around Celia's shoulders and pulling the smaller woman closer. She shivered, not from any chill, but from the delicious rub of velvet on her bare skin.

Celia laughed. "That you do, you madwoman. All the same, I would like to go back inside. I need another drink." She punctuated the statement with a wave of her empty wineglass.

Naomi considered her mental map of the grounds, memorized from the one on display in the entry hall. "They've set up a tearoom in the solarium, right over that way," she said, pointing back toward the nearby mansion. "I could go for a cup of tea."

"A tearoom?" Celia asked, giggling. At Naomi's confused silence, she looked up with a sly smile. "Don't tell me you don't know the other meaning of that!"

"Something not covered in the Library's English lessons, I presume?"

Eyes twinkling behind her mask, Celia said, "A place for... illicit encounters. Particularly between members of the same gender. Most often a lavatory. Not used so much anymore, but in older novels of the right sort..."

"Ah," Naomi said, the pieces clicking together in her mind. "I do think I understand that one about the gang of thieves a bit better now."

Discussion of tawdry English literature kept them laughing the rest of the way along the garden path to the solarium, a room that extended from the side of the manor like a gem on a crown, its glass walls glowing with the light from within and patterned by the shadows of leaves. Pushing through the gauzy curtains at the door, they found themselves in a quiet space perfumed by flowers that bloomed all around them in large ceramic pots and hanging baskets. Water bubbled in a fountain somewhere out of sight, weaving into a quiet harmony with soft conversation and a harp's slow melody. Scattered between half-walls of pots and greenery were plush, jewel-toned couches and low tables, many occupied by couples or groups.

Naomi had just spotted an empty couch when Celia gasped, looking in the opposite direction. "Is that Scholar Wolfe? And the Lord Commander?" Celia whispered with a jerk of her chin toward an L-shaped couch off to the side near the glass wall.

Not a chance it was anyone else. Scholar Wolfe had come dressed as a scholar wolf, in a black wolf mask and robe adorned with gold stars. Impressive that he'd gotten past the door in something so close to an official uniform. In a way, his costume was as brazen as Naomi's own, announcing his identity so blatantly, though it was Santi whose outfit exposed more flesh. Stretched out across the couch with his head in Wolfe's lap, Santi wore a wolf mask, an intricate harness of rope woven in star-like patterns over his deeply tanned skin, and in scant concession to modesty, a pair of black briefs that were very brief indeed.

If not for those briefs, the night might have gone rather differently. Had Santi been nude, Celia would never have turned to Naomi and said, "Shall we go and say hello? Oh, but if they recognize us... does it really not bother you?"

There was a thought to warm Naomi's loins. There was thrill enough in being seen, and even more in being known, but best of all was mutual recognition. Men, on the whole, did not excite Naomi, but the possibility of seeing the Lord Commander of the High Garda exposed and seeing him recognize her in return... that very much did. Licking her lips, she took a step toward the two men and said, "I rather hope they do."

With a nervous giggle, Celia came along. Spots of pink skin peeked between the verdant leaves of her mask like bright berries that reddened as they drew nearer to the table. Unlike Naomi, Celia did fancy men, and there was no denying that Niccolo Santi was a fine specimen of masculinity on display. Equally likely, though, that it was Wolfe prompting that reaction. Naomi hadn't missed the signs of attraction there, nor did she see any reason to be bothered by Celia's little crush. Indeed, this was just the place to have fun with such a thing.

Nearing the couch where the two men sat, Naomi gave her partner a gentle push forward. Both Wolfe and Santi looked up, and with a boldness she would never have shown unmasked, Celia said in Greek colored heavily by her English accent, "Pardon me, gentlemen. I hope I'm not intruding. We simply had to compliment the two of you on your stunning costumes." At that, she reached back to take Naomi's hand and pull her forward. "Didn't we, darling?"

"Yes, indeed," Naomi said, savoring the moment of holding their undivided attention as their gaze swept tangibly over her skin. Wolfe was quick to look back at Celia, dark eyes narrowing behind his mask and a twitch of a smile on his lips. All the while, he never stopped stroking Santi's chest with a black-gloved hand. Santi let his eyes linger, running his tongue over his lips. His pupils were so large that Naomi would have suspected the influence of a drug if she hadn't known the effects endorphins could have under the right conditions. Santi's skin was not so tanned or so covered by tattoos and rope as to obscure the telltale marks of the sort of intense play that would unleash such effects. That would mean Wolfe likely held authority, at least for the moment, so it was the Scholar who Naomi addressed to say, "Your rope work is beautiful, sir."

"Thank you," Wolfe said with a dip of his chin. "It is a pleasure to have earned the attention of such goddesses as yourselves. I would offer my hand, but, ah," pausing, he lifted his hand from Santi's chest, turning it so the palm faced them and revealing tiny metal spikes set into the fingers of the glove.

"He's prickly right now," Santi said in a slurred voice that carried more of an Italian accent than he usually spoke with. He grinned up at Naomi and Celia, and something in the expression hinted that he, too, had recognized them, even in his state of intoxication. "More than usual, I mean."

"Hush, you," Wolfe said, returning his hand to Santi's body and eliciting a pleased sigh. "Would you ladies care to join us? You are welcome to inspect the ropes more closely, and my partner would not at all mind having more hands on him."

"Not at all," Santi confirmed. He rolled his shoulders back, putting his muscular chest even more on display than it already had been.

"We would be delighted," Celia said, taking a seat right next to Wolfe. She leaned in to peer with interest at his hand. "Though I must confess to being as fascinated by your glove as by the ropes. I've never seen anything like it."

Taking a seat on the couch on Celia's other side, Naomi wrapped an arm around her partner's shoulder and watched as Wolfe took the glove off to pass it to Celia. It was always a pleasure to watch Celia discovering a new toy, and even after Naomi's dedicated efforts over the past few years, there was still a great deal Celia had not yet discovered. The poor woman's sex life had been terribly constrained for entirely too long. Admittedly, Naomi wouldn't have thought to try anything like this; Celia usually wasn't drawn to sharp things. Perhaps it had been Wolfe's obvious tenderness in his use of the glove that swayed her; perhaps Santi's clear delight in Wolfe's touch.

"They call them vampire gloves," Wolfe said while Celia slid her hand into the glove. "Despite the ridiculous name, they produce a delightful variety of sensations. Would you like to try?"

"Please do," Santi added, stretching an arm out across Celia's lap in offering.

Celia examined the spikes on her fingers, tapping one with the bare fingertip of her other hand. "And it won't hurt him?"

"Not if you press lightly," Wolfe said, sharing a look with Santi. With a huff of laughter he added, "Though I assure you, he would not mind in the least if you went harder. He's quite thick-skinned and a glutton for punishment."

"I'll take whatever you wish to give, oh beautiful goddess," Santi said with a wink.

Lips pressed together in concentration, Celia traced a single finger along the length of Santi's forearm, skirting the edge of a map tattooed there in black ink. Hardly touching him, by the looks of it. "How does that feel?" she asked.

Santi shivered and sighed, "Good."

"At that level of pressure, it's more of a tickle," Wolfe said, "A little more, and it will scratch. You may also wish to try tapping, circling..." As he described the various methods of using the gloves, Wolfe reached down to pick up a basket from the floor in front of the couch. Holding it out to Naomi he asked, "Do you see any you would like to try?"

Within the basket were enough gloves to equip a whole squad of High Garda, none of them matched. The range of materials was impressive: leather and silk, fur and velvet, some with spikes or rough patches on the palms or fingers. Considering a chain mail glove, cool to the touch, she asked, "Are these all yours?"

Wolfe shook his head. "Provided by our generous host."

"He has quite the collection," Naomi said. She slipped the mail glove on and passed the basket back to Wolfe. Laying her mail-clad hand on Celia's neck, she asked, "How do you like this one?"

"Cold," Celia said with a laugh. She caught Naomi by the wrist with the hand that still wore her own lace and velvet glove and put Naomi's hand on Santi's forearm.

He gave a most gratifying shiver. The metal warmed quickly as Naomi rubbed her hand slowly up and down Santi's forearm, taking the opportunity to examine the tattoo there as her fingers traced the lines of the map. It looked to be a city, though not one Naomi recognized. Beneath the ink, she could make out the warped and discolored flesh of an old burn scar, probably a bad one. A common enough injury for the High Garda.

Santi gave a sudden shudder that made Naomi wonder if she'd been too rough on the old wound, but no, it was Celia, now leaned nearly into Wolfe's lap herself to scratch a spiked finger over Santi's nipple. She followed that rough touch with a slow stroke of her other hand, soft velvet following in the wake of sharp steel. Wolfe, meanwhile, was putting on another glove, one that looked like crocodile leather with sandpaper set into the fingers and palm. Santi groaned as Wolfe rubbed his thigh hard enough to redden the skin.

"Oh, I like that one," Santi said, drawing his leg up to give Wolfe easier access.

"You would," Wolfe said, giving Santi a look Naomi couldn't quite read. "Shall I try it on your ass?"

Santi winced at that, but smiled. "Maybe later. Get the other nipple?"

"See how insatiable he is?" Wolfe muttered, but he did as Santi asked, rolling Santi's nipple between sandpaper fingers while Santi gasped and wriggled with evident pleasure.

This was a most fascinating way to see the Lord Commander, Naomi had to admit.

Celia paused with Santi's other nipple caught between her velvet-clad fingers to peer at the new glove on Wolfe's hand. "Isn't that painful?"

"No," Santi said. "Scratchy. Good."

Head inclined, Wolfe asked, "Would you care to feel it yourself, my lady? If you would give me your hand..."

Now there was an interesting thought, indeed. "I have a better idea," Naomi whispered in Celia's ear. "If you'll let me unbutton your dress, he can try it on your shoulder." If ever there was an opportunity to let Celia indulge her interest in the Scholar, this was it.

Celia gasped and blushed scarlet, but she nodded.

Naomi took her time undoing the buttons, kissing each newly exposed inch of skin and softly rubbing her partner's reddened neck with the bumpy metal rings of her chain mail glove. She could see Wolfe watching them over Celia's shoulder, but he gave no sign of impatience. He'd put a fur glove on his other hand and was now alternating strokes over Santi's stomach, which seemed to alleviate any disappointment Santi might have felt at Celia becoming the new center of attention.

At last, Naomi had enough buttons undone that she could pull the dress down to reveal a milk white shoulder, soft and beautiful. She couldn't resist taking the first touch, slowly running her gloved hand over Celia's bare skin.

"Mmm, a little like that bumpy massage wand of yours," Celia said. She looked up at Wolfe, and though her blush was still bright, there was nothing but confidence in her voice when she said, "Let's try that scratchy one, then."

"As you wish, my lady," Wolfe said. He started softly with a single finger along the top of her shoulder, and when she sighed happily at that, he used his whole hand to rub her shoulder in a slow circle.

"That is nice," Celia murmured. "Like a good scrub. Is it good for the skin, do you think?"

"I do not know, my lady," Wolfe replied. "It is enough, I think, that it gives you pleasure." He flipped his hand over to stroke her with the crocodile leather back of it.

To Naomi's amusement, Celia wrinkled her nose at that. "Doesn't feel like much," she pronounced. "Just smooth."

"My apologies," Wolfe said with a chuckle. "Shall we try the fur, then?"

That one, as it turned out, was much more to Celia's taste. She stretched and hummed with pleasure, almost like a cat being petted, leaning so far into Wolfe's lap that her cheek rested on Santi's chest. Santi, for his part, did not seem at all unhappy with this development. He fumbled for the basket until Wolfe helped him into a glove made of what looked like cowhide, which Santi used to caress Celia's neck and collarbones.

Not to be outdone, Naomi reached for Celia's hand. "My dear, if you'll let me borrow that glove of yours..."

"Oh, yes, please," Celia said, allowing Naomi to take the spiked glove.

It had been years since Naomi shared a partner with others, and she worried for a moment about the choreography of touch, but it came easily enough. Wolfe's hand moved back to the top of Celia's shoulder, and Naomi's moved in to give her partner a gentle stroke with the spiked glove. Celia giggled, Naomi increased the pressure, and Wolfe followed her lead, rubbing the fur over the red lines left by the spikes on Celia's easily marked English skin. There was something truly satisfying in seeing Celia's reactions to their coordinated touch. Every little shiver, every quiet sigh brought warmth to Naomi's heart. After the better part of a lifetime of deprivation, Celia deserved to have this.

Naomi would have been content to keep it up for hours, but they were interrupted by the approach of one of the silver-clad servants. As much as the young woman tried to be unobtrusive in swapping out the empty teapot on the table in front of the couch with a fresh one and adding two more teacups, the sound caught Celia's attention, and she sat up, looking flustered. "Oh, I'm being so selfish, aren't I? You wanted to have tea, dear. And here I am hogging all the attention. I'm so sorry," Celia said.

"You've nothing to apologize for," Naomi said with a kiss to Celia's bare shoulder. "I think we're all enjoying you a great deal, aren't we?"

"I agree, my lady," Wolfe added. "Your pleasure is ours."

"No complaints here," Santi concurred.

"But it's hardly fair..." Celia regarded the three of them with pursed lips. "Really, darling, you ought to have a turn. And you, Scholar, if you wish, that is. And the tea!"

"Perhaps," Wolfe suggested as he poured the tea, "I might suggest that we take turns? That will address your concerns about fairness, will it not?"

Taking the cup that Wolfe offered, Naomi swung a leg over Celia's lap. She couldn't say she found either of the two men attractive, not the way Celia did, but the things they could teach Celia to do with this collection of gloves... Yes, that thought held considerable appeal. She smiled at her partner and said, "Well, I will admit I'm curious..."


	7. Khalila/Dario: Collar and Lead, Bathroom Control, Flogging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dario gets himself in trouble and is punished.
> 
> Filling the day 20 prompts from Maz's kinktober list: Collar and Lead, Bathroom Control, Flogging

The wine was entirely too good. That, Dario concluded an hour into a two-hour reading and demonstration of the _Kama Sutra_, was the entirety of his problem. The dark, complex Spanish red went down as smooth as water, and he had Khalila's permission to drink as much as he liked of it. Thanks to the silver-uniformed servants circulating the room, he never even had to refill his glass. It never got more than half empty, which, in retrospect, made it something of a challenge to keep track of his consumption.

Which, of course, he was supposed to be doing. It was Khalila's only limit on his drinking for the night: he was not to interrupt her chosen activities with ill-timed visits to the bathroom or drunken misbehavior. In retrospect, he should have been more aware of the obvious trap in her unusual lenience. It was exactly the sort of thing she liked to do, letting him dig himself into a hole as a lesson in responsibility, or temperance, or whichever virtue she saw fit to cultivate in him.

He'd already dug himself very deep by the time he accepted that there was no ignoring the growing pressure in his bladder. He was taking notes as ordered, kneeling on a cushion in front of Khalila's armchair with his shoulder just touching her leg, his Codex and wineglass resting on a footstool in front of him. In any other venue, he wouldn't have been able to see a thing from that position, but this room had been set up with such seating arrangements in mind. It was the kind of personal library that would have been impossible five years ago, two stories high with a balcony running around the room halfway up. Shelves along every wall stocked with hundreds of printed books, new enough that they perfumed the room. The center of the floor had been cleared of everything but a podium and a pile of cushions, and there a reader - a woman in a prim and terribly outdated dress and crow-feathered mask who Dario highly suspected was Litterae Magnus Carole Vargas - recited from the text while a rotating group of models acted out the techniques described. Chairs and cushions ringed the room on both levels, and Khalila had selected a place on the balcony where Dario could look down through the bars of the railing to easily see the nude man and woman currently engaged in oral sex.

The technique on display was one that Dario knew so well he could have described it in his sleep, even accounting for Khalila's expectation that he would use his best handwriting. That left him plenty of attention to notice just how much wine had already worked its way through his system. He wasn't drunk; his tolerance was on the high side, enough so that he could drink Jess under the table and give Glain a run for her money. But he was going to need a toilet soon, and he had another hour before his next scheduled break.

Wondering if he could hold out that long, he shifted on his heels in search of a better position. To his dismay, he discovered in doing so that his new gold plug could cause a fair amount of discomfort in close proximity to a full bladder. It was, he had to admit, an interesting feeling. Maybe something to ask Khalila about exploring further another time. At home. In the bathroom. Just in case.

A new line of writing in his Codex pulled his attention away from that enjoyable line of speculation.

_You are fidgeting, darling._

Was she even watching the demonstration? Of course she was. The woman had the eyes of an eagle and he adored her for it, though perhaps not quite so much under these specific circumstances.

No, that was untrue. He adored her even more for it under these specific circumstances. They were listening to the disguised Litterae Magnus read from the _Kama Sutra_ while beautiful people fucked for their education, and his lady still found him worthy of her attention.

_I apologize, _he wrote, and hesitated with his stylus over the page. To tell her or not? _Could_ he survive the wait? The thought of accomplishing such a feat of endurance for her made his pulse migrate toward his cock. Maybe...

Another pulse, this one electronic in nature and originating from the golden plug, settled the question. He very much could not survive the wait.

_I apologize for disturbing your enjoyment of the reading, my queen, but I find that I am in need of the lavatory._

He put extra flourishes on the letters, no easy feat with the vibrations of the plug reverberating through his bladder. She was not impressed. She made him wait until Vargas finished the page before taking his wineglass from him and passing down the end of his leash.

_You have demonstrated that you cannot control yourself. You will need to wear this._ Her writing became subtly sharper when she was disappointed in him, the visual equivalent of her disdainful voice. Thoroughly arousing.

Though he would never admit it to anyone but her, so was the leash. Particularly considering where it would be attached.

Collars around the neck carried far too much unwanted meaning. A harness would not work at all with his outfit. There was really only one acceptable way for the fashionable and socially conscious nobleman to wear a collar, as far as Dario was concerned, and that was exactly what he wore. A collar, quite small in circumference and not especially thick in width, made of deep violet leather studded with jewels in colors to match his peacock coat. Worn around the base of his cock.

Straightening his back, Dario took the gold clasp that Khalila dangled over his shoulder and unbuttoned the middle button of his trousers. He wouldn't ask to expose himself; she would only refuse. Exposing himself was a reward, and he hadn't earned it. He clipped the leash to the matching ring on his cock's collar and redid the button so that the leash emerged from between buttons, making it very obvious how he was being led without letting anyone see the part he was led by.

At least they would see the leash. He liked this leash. Jeweled violet leather to match his collar, a beautiful symbol of Khalila's control.

She gave it a stern tug to pull him up as she got up, and, oh, God, how terrifyingly beautiful she was. A vision of flowing white and gold, all but faceless behind the mask and niqab, she could have been one of the more fearsome sorts of angels, sent down from heaven to punish him for his sins. He'd never known he could get hard so easily with his bladder ready to burst. His entire pelvic region was a mess of conflicting pleasures and pains, making it difficult to stand straight. He managed it. His lady demanded perfection, and he would give it, no matter how tight his trousers got or how the buzz of the plug amplified the urgent need to relieve himself.

Sliding a book back onto the shelf behind the couch, Glain gave a loud snort. She cocked her masked head in a way that made the snarl of the lion's mouth look like a mocking grin. Taking her place behind them, she muttered, "A little on the nose, isn't it, your highness?"

He didn't answer. He was forbidden to speak, and any signs she would understand would get him in more trouble for bad manners. Head held high, he did his best to strut after Khalila like the peacock he'd dressed as. He had a sinking feeling he was not especially successful in that. There were definitely people looking at him in the halls, the kinds of looks that made his heart pound with shame-fueled excitement.

They made it to the hall of bathrooms without incident, thank God. Khalila gave him no choice this time, leading him into one decorated in sterile white, plain and utilitarian. The message in that was clear. She let the leash go slack as she locked the door, and he dropped to his knees to bow with his nose to the ground in his apology position. The tile stank of bleach, as if the room had just been cleaned. Reassuring, he supposed, though he was mostly focused on the intense discomfort of the position.

She made him wait. He heard her footsteps, the susurrus of her skirts. The leash, still loose, slid leftward along the floor. Quiet sounds of things being placed on the room's lone table. A click of glass on glass, then several softer objects.

He was going to explode. Pity he wasn't all the way hard, really. That would dramatically reduce the odds of him ruining his trousers. But then, the danger was half the thrill of it. There was a filthy, depraved part of his libido that would even relish being made to wait until he soaked himself in his own urine, no getting around it, even if the shame of it killed him. Khalila knew that; there was nothing he wouldn't confess to her. If she chose to let him tumble all the way down that hole, he trusted that she would be there to help him out of it in the end.

"Up." Khalila's voice was glacial, her hand firm as she tightened the slack on the leash. She'd removed both mask and niqab so he could see the extent of her disapproval. That was her extremely disappointed frown, the one that came with eyes that lamented his incompetence as they glowered down at him. God, but she was gorgeous when she was angry. On the table beside her, he spotted two floggers, horsehair and rabbit fur. Both luxurious materials; neither a prospect he relished. "Mask off. Explain your error."

"Yes, my queen." He put on his most contrite face as he removed his mask and set it aside on the - he couldn't help but cringe - bathroom floor. Holding the thing wasn't an option in his formal kneeling posture, which required his hands to be neatly clasped behind his back. "I failed to monitor my own intake of wine and allowed my bladder to become overly full before the conclusion of the reading. Had I obeyed your order to drink in moderation, this would not have occurred. I am prepared to accept the consequences of my failure."

"Are you?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "Very well. I should demand that you wet those trousers, as that would be the logical consequence of such foolishness, but this is a special occasion, so I will be generous. You may choose to receive a flogging in exchange for permission to use the toilet. I will even allow you to select the implement of your punishment. Will it be the horsehair or the rabbit fur?"

The choice was a trap. It always was. She was a cat, and he her prey, and whatever he did, he would lose. She would make sure of it, his beautiful, vengeful angel of a wife. No time to think past the initial impressions, lest the choice be made by his body. Soaking his trousers, unbearable shame. Horsehair, painful stinging. Rabbit fur, soft. His cowardly mind latched onto that, and he almost blurted it out before a second thought struck. She hadn't said he would get to relieve himself _before_ the flogging. She could make his punishment last a very, very long time with the rabbit fur.

Only one real choice, then. "Please use the horsehair, my lady."

Was that a faint twitch of a smile? Or had he imagined it? Khalila slipped the leash around her wrist and turned to take the horsehair flogger from the table, running her fingers through the black tail. Her voice took on a silky tone that reminded him, in a frighteningly arousing way, of their days as postulants with Scholar Wolfe. "I must confess, I was hoping you would choose this one. It means I get to do this," she said, and dipped the end of the tail into the wine. "Punishment with the very thing you transgressed with. Fitting, don't you think, my foolish prince?"

That was going to sting viciously, wasn't it? No more than he deserved, perhaps. "Yes, my queen. Thank you."

"Trousers down. Position yourself for punishment," she said. While he positioned himself - a moderately awkward proposition while leashed, but achievable - she lectured. "It really is too bad you couldn't control yourself. As you might recall from the schedule, the chapter on slapping was next. Think of the delightful techniques we might have learned from that. I might even have brought you to a private room to practice immediately after the conclusion of the reading, if only you had behaved. Imagine how much more you would have enjoyed that than this. Are you ready?"

"Yes, my lady." He stood, bent double with his hands on his ankles, his back to her, the leash running between his legs. Trousers bunched around his knees, the long tails of his jacket swept to one side, he offered up his unprotected ass for punishment. He might have been more worried about that if not for the way the position intensified the pressure on his bladder, even when she turned off the plug's vibration. He felt like he was going to burst, and he was still half hard from the thrill of being so vulnerable.

He got no warning before the wine-dipped horsehair struck. Probably, it wasn't so hard of a blow. Khalila wasn't Jess. She never hit him all that hard. Oh, but the sting of it. Even with proper warmup, he would have hated it. He liked his pain in the heavy thump of leather or the brisk slap of a hand, not this _stinging_. A thousand needles on his unprepared skin. He yelped. He wasn't especially ashamed of that. And he remembered his manners. "Thank you, my lady."

The words were scarcely out when the next blow landed, and from there, she showed no mercy. Blow after blow, with only seconds to express his gratitude between. His ass was on fire. His eyes burned with tears. He didn't try to hold them back. No, he was grateful for them. He deserved this. He had failed his lady, and he deserved the sting of her disappointment.

"Thank you, my lady."

"Thank you, my lady."

God help him, he meant it. She was being so kind to let him feel that sting on his ass instead of in his heart. He couldn't even feel his bladder through the pain.

Somehow, she always knew when she had him feeling truly penitent. The blows stopped, and in the moment it took him to process the reduction of input, she was in front of him, unclipping the leash, helping him up.

"There, my love, you've been such a good boy for your punishment," she murmured, guiding him gently backward. One step. Two, three. A little to the side, and she was pushing down on his shoulders, saying in a soft but firm voice, "Sit."

His burning, stinging ass landed on the cool, smooth seat of the toilet, and new tears overflowed in relief. She took his hand and put it on his cock, pointing it downward. "Go ahead. You may use the toilet."

"Thank you, my lady, my queen, I'm sorry, thank you, I'm sorry," he slurred as he at last let out the contents of his overfull bladder, more intoxicated by endorphins and relief than he had been by the wine.

She held him, stroking his hair, murmuring praise, until he was done. Lifting him out of the hole he'd dug for himself with the soft promises of forgiveness and another chance to please her.


End file.
